
BookJMZ___ 




» -".' / 



f'%/ THE 

POETICAL WORKS 



ROBERT BURNS, 

INCLODINa 

SEVERAL PIECES 
WOT INSERTED IN DR.CURRIE'S EDITION i 

EXHIBITED UNDER 

A NEW PLAN OF ARRANGEMENT, 

AND PaECKDEn«r«* ^ • •'- 

A LIFE OF THE AUTHOR, 



ETE GLOSSARY. 

7 






TWO VOj^MES IN ON 

^_ it, 



<77n 



BOSTON: 
PHILLIPS AND SAMPSON, 

110 Washington Street. 

1847. ., 



/ 



01 






33 ys 



ADVERTISEMENT. 



The present edition was undertaken by a gen- 
tleman with the view of presenting the public 
with the Poetical Works of Bitrns more metho- 
dically arranged, more copiously illustrated, and 
less expensive in the purchase, than they have 
yet appeared. 

In comparing it with others, it will be found 
to possess several advantages. 

I. It contains, besides a number of other 
pieces, not inserted in Dr. Currie's edition. The 
Jolly Beggars, a cantata replete with humorous 
description and discrimination of character, and 
inferior to no poem of the same length in the 
English language. It likeM^ise comprehends 
Holy Willie's Prayer, a piece of satire unequalled 
for exquisite severity, and felicitous delineation. 

II. In the editions hitherto published, no re- 
gard is paid to method or classification. In this, 
the poems are disposed according to their re- 
spective subjects, and divided into five books. 

' III. Most of the poetry of Burns, though pos- 
sessing an energy, a richness, and an ardour, 
which never fail to strike and captivate the mind, 
yet appears under great disadvantages to the 
English reader. Much of the fire, which warms 
and dnzzles a native of Scotland, is to him ne- 
cessarily lost by the obscurity of the language. 



V ADVERTISEMEirr, 

To obviate this as much as possible, a conader- 
able number of words have been added to the 
Glossary t and several of the old definitions have 
been corrected or enlarged. A new Life, drawn 
up with care and fidelity, has likewise been pre- 
fixed. 

Of an edition, thus enlarged and improved, it 
is unnecessary to say more. Should its utility 
be acknowledged, tiie editor will consider his 
exertions sufficiently rewarded. J. T. 

London, Feb, 25, 1819. 



CONTENTS OF THE FIRST VOLUME 



Page 
Advertisement ...... 3 

Life of Burns ...... 9 

Glossary ....... 43 

Preface to the First Edition .... 69 

Dedication to the Second Edition . . .73 



BOOK I. 

MORAL, RELIGIOUS, AND PRECEPTrVE. 

77ie Twa Dogs ...... 75 

The Brigs of AxjT 81 

The Vision ••••••• °° 

The Cotter's Saturday Night . . . .93 

Verses written in Friar' s-Carse Hermitage, on Nith- 

Side .. • ,^n 

A Prayer under the Pressure of Violent Anguish 100 
A Prayer in the Prospect of Death . . • i^- 

Stanzas on the same occasion . . • • 101 

Verses left by the Author at a reverend friend's house, 

in the' room tohere he slept .... 10^ 
A Grace before Dinner . . • • • '^y^ 

The First Psalm . . • • , • ' *.r 

The first six verses of the Ninetieth Psalm . . ib. 

Epistle to a Young Friend . . . .104 



BOOK II. 

PATHETIC, ELEGIAC, AND DESCRIPTIVE. 

Man was made to Mourn • " ' ' Ina 
A Winter Night ^^ 



vi CONTENTS. 

Page 

Winter {J^ 

Despondency . . • • • • \\~ 

To Ruin ^ • -^ ^^* 

Lament of Mary, dueen of Scots, on the approach 

of Spring . . • • * . * -, ^^^ 

The Lament, occasioned by the unfortunate issue of a 

Friend's Amour . . . . • ' ]]^ 

Lament of a Mother for the Death of her Son . 118 

Lament for James, Earl of Glencairn . .119 

Lines sent to Sir John Whiteford, of Whiteford, Bart. 

with the foregoing Poem . . . . 121 

Strat kalian's Lament . . . . . ao. 

Tfie Chevalier's Lament . . . . 122 

77i€ Auiliar's Farewell to his NcUive Country . ib. 

Farewell to Ayrshire ..... 123 

The Farewell to the Brethren of St. Jameses Lodge, 

Tarbolton 124 

FareioM to Eliza ..... 125 

Highland Mary ...... ib. 

To Mary in Heaven . . . ■ . 12G 

Elegy on the late Miss Burnet, of Monboddo . 127 

Verses on reading, in a newspaper, the death of John 

M'Leod, Esq. brother to a young lady, a particular 

friend of the Author's . . . . 123 

Sonnet on the Death of Robert Riddel, Esq. of Glen 

Riddel, April, \79A' ib. 

Verses on the death of Sir James Hutiter Blair . 129 

Address to the Shade of Thomson on crowning his 

Bust, at Ednam, Roiburgshire, with Bays . 130 

Epitaph for the Author's Father ... 131 

for R. A. Esq ib. 

on a Friend ..... ib. 

A Bard's Epitaph 132 

Verses on the birth of a posthumous child, born in 

peculiar circumstances of family distress . ib. 

On Sensibility 133 

Verses on seeing a wounded Hare limp by me, which a 

fellow had just shot at . . . . 134 

Lines on scaring some Water-fowl in Loch Turit, a 

wild scene among the Hills of Oughtertyre . ib. 

Sonnet, written on the ^th of January, 1793, the 

birthday of the author, on hearing a thrush in a 

tnorning walk . . . . . .135 

To a Mouse, on turning her up in her nest, vnth the 

Plough, November, 1785 . . . .136 

To a Mountain Daisy, on turning one dovan toith the 

Plough. April, 1736 137 

■3%e humble Petition of Bruar Water . , .138 



CONTENTS. vii 

Page 
Lines, written with a pencil, over the Chimney-piece 

in the parlour of the inn at Kemnore, Tciymouth 140 
Lines, written with a pencil, standing by the Fall of 

Fyers, near Loch-ness . . . . .141 



BOOK III. 



FAMILIAR AND EPISTOLARY. 

To Miss L , with Beattie's Poems as a New Year's 

gift, January \,\7S7 142 

To Miss Cruickshank, a very young lady, tcritten on 

the blank lenfofa book presented to her by the author ib. 
Verses 07i a young lady .... 143 

to u young lady, icith a present of songs . 144 

presented to a lady tchom he had often cele- 
brated, under the name of Chloris . . ib. 

presented to an old stceetheart, then tnarried 145 

To a young lady, Miss Jessy L , Dumfries ; with 

books which the bard presented her . . ib. 

To J. ^'**** ib. 

Epistle to Davie, a brother poet . . . 150 

To the same ,153 

Epistle to J. Lapraik . . . . . 155 

To the same ....... 158 

To W. S*****n 160 

Epistle to J. 7J*****, enclosing some poems, . 165 

To Dr. Blacklock 167 

To Colonel de Peyster 168 

To Mr. Mitchell, Collector of Excise . . 169 

Letter to Js T—t Gl-nc-r . . . .170 

To the guidwife of Wauchope-house, in answer to an 

epistle which she had sent the author . . 172 

To J. Rankin, on his writing to the author that a girl 

was with child by him . . . . 174 

Address to an illegitinuite child . _ . . ib. 

To a Tailor,j7i answer to an epistle which he had 
sent tite author ..... 175 

To Mr. William Ti/tler 177 

Epistle to R. Graham Esq. of Fintra . . 178 

To the same ISO 

To the same, on receiving a favour, . . 182 

To a gentleman whom the author had offended . 183 



viii COJ\rTEXTS. 



To a gentleman who had sent him. a neietpaper, and of- 
fered to continue it free of expense . . . 183 

Sketch, to Mrs. Dunlop, on a Kew Year's day , 184 

Tlie auld Farmer's JVew Year Morning Salutaiion to 
his auld Mare, Maggie 185 

The Death and Dying Words of poor Mailie, thi Au' 
tkorsonlypet Ymoe . . .188 



TllE 

LIFE 

OF 

ROBERT BURN^S. 



There is no poet of the present ag-e more 
deservedly popular than Burns. Though born 
in an humble station in hfe, he raised himself, by 
the mere exertions of his mind, to the hig-hest 
pitch of intellectual greatness. The originality 
of his genius, the energy of his language, and 
the richness of his imagination, merited the gra- 
titude as well as the admiration of his countrymen . 
But his highest efforts, in which the tide of hu- 
man feehng seemed to flow in deep and ex- 
haustless channels, failed to soften the avarice 
of a mean and selfish aristocracy. Like his 
native and lonely hills, he was subject to every 
blast, and exposed naked and bare to every 
tempest. No refreshing showers came to rest 
upon his head, or to pour fertility into his bo- 
som. He was an elevated point, round which 
the storm cluQg and gathered; a prominent rock 
condemned by nature as it were to endure the 
buffetings of the surge. Yet his rude splendour 
remained uninjured. Amidst the bitter waten 

Vol. I. B 



10 LIFE OF BURJVS. 

of indig-ence and sorrow, of drudgery and ne- 
glect, he produced those-, beautiful idylliums 
which will ever exist for the delight of the 
world; and which will never be read without an 
expansion of the understanding and of the heart. 

Robert Burns was born on the 25th of January, 
1759, in a cottage near the banks of the Doon, 
about two miles from Ayr. The chief incidents 
of his life are related, by himself, in a letter to 
i)r. Moore. In this document, and in several 
passages of his correspondence, he unfolds the 
vicissitudes of his fortune and the peculiarities 
of his character with great strength and clear- 
ness. Whoever would do justice to his memory, 
mist copy his sentiments and his language. 

" For some months past," says he, " I have 
b^en rambling over the country; but I am now 
confined with some lingering complaints, origi- 
nating, as I take it, in the stomacii. To divert 
my spirits a little in this miserable fog of ennui, 
I have taken a whim to give you a history of 
nivsclf. My name has made some little noise in 
this country; you liave done me the honour to 
interest yourself very warmly in my behalf; and 
I tliink a faithful account of what character of a 
man I am, and how I came by that character, 
•may perliaps amuse you in an idle moment. I 
will give you an honest narrative; though I know 
it will be often at my own expense; for I assure 
you, sir, 1 liave, like Solomon, whose chai'acter, 
excepting in the trifling affair o^ ivisdom, I some- 
times think 1 resemble; I have, I say, like him, 
turned iny eyes to behold madness and folly, and, 
li^te Ifim. too, frequently shaken hands with their 
int(;xicating friendship. *** After you have 
jx-rused tb.ese pages, should you think thera 



LIFE OF BUItJ^S. II 

trifling' and impertinent, I only beg- leave to tell 
you, that the poor author wrote them u nder some 
twitching' qualms of conscience, arising from 
suspicion that he was doing what he ought ndt 
to do: a predicament he has more than once 
been in before. 

*' I have not the most distant pretensions to 
assume that character which the p}'e-coutcd 
guardians of escutcheons call a gentleman. 
When at Edinburgh, last winter, I got acquaint 
ed in the Herald's Office, and, looking through 
that granary of honours, I there found almost 
every name in the kingdom; but for me, 

My ancient hut ignoble blood 

Has crept througli scoundrels ever since the flood. 

Gules, Purpure, Argent, &c. quite disowned |j 

me. jj 

" My father was of the north of Scotland, the i \ 

son of a farmer, who rented lands of the noble i \ 

Keiths of Marischal, and had the honour of shar- j | 

ing their fate. I do not use the word ho7iour j i 

with any reference to political principles: loyal j; 

and disloyal, I take to be merely relative terms, ! 
in that ancient and formidable court, known in 

this country by the name of Club law, where i 

the right is always with the strongest. — But \ 

those who dare welcome ruin, and shake hands } 

with infamy, for what they sincerely believe tti j 

be the cause of their God, or their king, are, as ii 

Mark Antony says in Shakspeare of Brutus and !; 

Cassius, Jionourable men. I mention this circuni- j j 

stance, because it threw my father on the world ] i 

at large. i | 

"After many years' wanderings and sojourn- I' 
ings, he picked up a pretty large quantity of 
observation and experience, to which 1 au) 



J 2 LIFE OF BORJ\rS 

indebted for most of my little pretensions to wis- 
dom. I have met witli few who understood 
me7i, tlieir manners i and their ways, equal to him; 
but stubborn, ungainly integrity, and headlong-, 
ungovernable irascibility, are disqualifying cir- 
cumstances; consequently, I was born a very 
poor man's son. For the first six or seven years 
of my life, my father was gardener to a worthy 
gentleman of small estate, in the neighbourhood 
of Ayr. Had he continued in that station, I must 
have marched off to be one of the little under- 
lings about a fai-m house: but it was his dearest 
wish and prayer to have it in his power to keep 
his children under his own eye till they could 
discern between good and evil; so, with the as- 
sistance of his generous master, my father ven- 
tured on a small farm on his estate. At those 
yeai-s I was bv no means a favourite with any 
body. I was a good deal noted for a retentive 
memory, a stubborn sturdy something in my dis- 
position, and an enthusiastic idiot piety. I say 
idiot piety, because 1 was then but a child. 
Though it cost the schoolmaster some thrashings, 
I made an excellent EngUsh scholar; and by the 
I time I was ten or eleven years of age, 1 was a 

j ci-itic in substantives, verbs, and particles. In 

my infant and boyish days, too, I owed much 
to an old woman who resided in tlie family, 
remarkaljle for her ignorance, credulity and 
superstition. She had, I suppose, the largest 
collection in the country, of tales and songs 
concerning devils, ghosts, fairies, brownies, 
witches, warlocks, spunkies, kelpies, elf-can- 
dles, dead-lights, wraitlis, apparitions, cantrips, 
giants, enchanted towei-s, dragons, and other 
ti'umijery. This ciQtivated the latent seeds of 



LIFE OF BURKS. Vi 

poetry; but had so strong an effect on my iraa- 
g-ination, that to this hour, in my nocturnal ram- 
bles, I sometimes keep a sharp look-out in 
suspicious places; and though nobody can be 
more skeptical than I am in such matters, yet it 
often takes an effort of philosophy to shake off 
these idle terrors. The earliest composition that 
I recollect taking pleasure in, was the Vision of 
Mh-za, and a hymn of Addison's, beginning, 
*How are thy servants blest, O Lord!' I par- 
ticularly remember one half stanza, which was 
music to my boyish ear — 

For though on dreadful whirls we hung 
High on the broken wave. 
I met with these pieces in Mason's English Col- 
lection, one of my school books. The two first 
books I ever read in private, and which gave me 
more pleasure than any two books I ever read 
since, were the Life of Hannibal, and the His- 
tory of Sb William Wallace. Hannibal gave my 
young ideas such a turn, that I used to strut in 
raptures up and down after the recruiting di-um 
and bagpipe, and wish myself tall enougli to be 
a soldier; while the story of Wallace poured a 
Scottish prejudice into my veins, whicli will boil 
along there till the flood-gates of life shut in 
eternal rest. 

*' Polemical divinity about this time was put- 
ting the country half mad; and I, ambitious of 
shining in conversation parties on Sundays, be- 
tween sermons, at funerals, &c. used, a few 
years afterwards, to puzzle Calvinism with so 
much heat and indiscretion, that I raised a hue 
and cry of heresy against me, which has not 
ceased to this hour. 

** My vicinity to Ayr was of some advantage 



14 LIFE OF BURNS. 

to me. My social disposition, when not checked 
by some modifications of spirited pride, was, 
like our catechism-definition of infinitude, * with- 
out bounds or limits.' I formed several connex- 
ions with other younkers who possessed superior 
advantages, the youngling actors, who were busy 
in the rehearsal of parts in which they wei'C 
shortly to appear on the stage of hfe, where, 
alas ! I was destined to drudge behind the 
scenes. It is not commonly at this green age 
that our gentry have a just sense of the immense 
distance between them and their ragged play- 
fellows. It takes a few dashes into the world, to 
give tlie young great man that proper, decent, 
unnoticing disregard for the poor, insignificant, 
stupid devils, the mechanics and peasantry around 
him, who were perhaps born in the same village. 
My young superiors never insulted the clouterly 
appearance of my ploughboy carcass, the two 
extremes of which were often exposed to all the 
inclemencies of all the seasons. They would 
give me stray volumes of books; among them, 
even tlien, 1 could pick up some observations; 
and one, whose heart I am sure not even the 
Munny Begum scenes have tainted, helped me 
to a little French. Parting with these my young 
friends and benefactors, as they occasionally 
went off for the East or West Indies, was often 
to me a sore affliction; but I was soon called to 
more serious evils. My father's generous mas- 
ter died; the farm proved a ruinous bargain; 
and, to clench the misfortune, we fell into the 
hands of a factor, who sat for the picture I have 
drawn of one in my tale of Twa Dog^s. My 
father was advanced in life, when he married; 
'■■ was the eldest of seven children; and he, worn 



LIFE OF BURETS. ir, 

out by early hardships, was unfit for labour. 
My father's spirit was soon irritated, but not 
easily broken. There was a freedom in his lease 
in two years more; and, to weather these two 
years, we retrenched our expenses. We lived 
very poorly; I was a dexterous ploughman, for 
my age; and the next eldest to me was a brother 
(Gilbert) who could drive the plough very well, 
and help me to thrash the corn. A novel writer 
might perhaps have viewed these scenes witli 
some satisfaction; but so did not I: my indigna- 
tion yet boils at the recollection of the s 1 

factor's insolent, threatening letters, which used 
to set us all in tears. 

*'This kind of life — the cheerless gloom of 
a hermit, with the unceasing moil of a galley 
slave, brought me to my sixteenth year; a little 
before which period I first committed the sin 
of rhyme. You know our country custom of 
coupling a man and woman together as part- 
ners in the labours of harvest. In my fifteentli 
autumn my partner was a bewitching creature, 
a year younger than myself. My scarcity of 
English denies me the power of doing her jus- 
tice in that language; but you know the Scot- 
tish idiom — she was a bonier sweet, sonsie lass. 
In short, she, altogether unwittingly to herself, 
initiated me in that delicious passion, which, in 
spite of acid disappointment, gin-horse prudence, 
and book-worm philosophy, I hold to be the 
first of human joys, our dearest blessing here 
below ! How she caught the contagion I cannot 
tell: you medical people talk much of infection 
from breathing the same air, the touch, &c.; but 
I never expressly ssdd I loved her. Indeed 1 
did not know myself why I liked so much to 



Ifl LIFE oFBxm^rs. 

loiter behind with her, when returning in the 
evening from our labours; why the tones of her 
voice made my heart-strings thi-ill hke an ^olian 
harp; and particularly why my pulse beat such 
a furious ratan when I looked and fingered over 
her little hand to pick out the cruel nettle-stings 
and thistles. Among her other love-inspiring 
qualities, she sung sweetly; and it was her fa- 
vourite reel to which I attempted giving an 
embodied vehicle in rhyme. I was not so pre- 
sumptuous as to imagine that I could make 
verses like printed ones, composed by men who, 
had Greek and Latin; but my girl sung a song, 
which was stud to be composed by a small 
countiy laird's son, on one of his father's maids, 
with whom he was in love ! and I saw no reason 
wliy I might not rhyme ag well as he; for, ex 
cepting that he could smear sheep and cast 
peats, liis father living in the moorlands, he had 
no more scholarcraft than myself. 

" Thus with me began love and poetry; which 
at times have been my only, and till witiiin the 
last twelve months, have been my highest en- 
joyment. My father struggled on till he reach- 
ed the freedom in his lease, when he entered 
on a larger farm about ten miles further in the 
country. The nature of the bargain he made 
was such as to throw a little ready money into 
his hands at the commencement of his lease; 
otherwise the affair would have been impracti- 
cable. For four years we lived comfortably 
here; but a difference commencmg between him 
and his landlord as to terms, after three years* 
tosslnw and whirling in the vortex of litigation, 
my fatiier was jiwt saved from the horrors of a 
jail by a consumption, which, after two years* 



LIFE OFBURJVS. 17 

promises, kindly stepped in, and carried him 
away to ' where the wicked cease from trou- 
bhng, and the weary are at rest." 

'* It is during the time that we lived on this 
farm that my httle stoiy is most eventful. I was, 
at the beginning- of tiiis period, perhaps, tlie 
most ungainly, awkward boy in the parish — no 
solitaire was less acquainted with the ways of the 
world. What I knew of ancient story was 
gathered from Salmon's and Guthrie's geogra- 
phical gi-ammars; and the ideas I had formed of 
modern manners, of literature, and criticism, I 
got from the Spectator. These, with Pope's 
Works, some plays of Shakspeare, Tell and 
iJickson on Agi-iculture, The Pantheon, Locke's 
jissay on the Human Understanding, Stack- 
house's History of the Bible, Justice's British 
Gardener's Directory, Bayle's Lectures, Allan 
Ramsay's Works, Taylor's Scripture Doctrine 
of Original Sin, A select collection of English 
Songs, and Hervey's Meditations, had formed 
the whole of my reading. The collection of 
songs was my vade mecum. I pored over them, 
driving my cart, or walking to labour, song by 
song, verse by verse; carefully noting the <rue 
tender, or sublime, from affectation and fustian. 
I am convinced I owe to this practice much of 
my critic-craft, such as it is. 

*'In my seventeenth year, to ^ve my man- 
ners a brush, I went to a country dancing school. 
My father had an unaccountable antipathy 
against these meetings; and my going was, what 
to this moment I repent, in opposition to hig 
wishes. My father, as I said before, was sub- 
ject to strong passions; from tliat instance of 
disobedience in me he took a sort of dishke to 



!3 LIFE OF BURETS. 

me, which I believe was one cause of the dissi- 
pation which marked my succeeding years. I 
say dissipation, comparatively with the strictness, 
ami sobriety, and regularity of Presbyterian 
country life; for though the Will o' Wisp me- 
teors of thoughtless whim were almost the sole 
lights of my path, yet early ingi'ained piety and 
virtue kept me for several years afterwards 
within the line of innocence. The great misfor- 
tune of my life was to want an aim. I had felt 
early some stimngs of ambition, but they were 
the blind gropings of Homer's Cyclops round 
the walls of his cave. I saw my father's situation 
entailed upon me perpetual labour. The only 
two openings by which I could enter the temple 
of Fortune, was the gate of niggardly economy, 
or the path of little chicaning bargain-making. 
The first is so contracted an aperture, I never 
could squeeze myself into it: — the last I always 
hated — there was contamination in the veiy en- 
trance ! Thus abandoned of aim or view in life, 
with a strong appetite for sociability, as well 
from native hilarity, as from a pride of observa 
tion and remark; a constitutional melancholy, or 
hypochondriasm, that made me fly to solitude; 
add to these incentives to social life, my repu- 
tation for bookish knowledge, a certair wild 
logical talent, and a strength of thought some 
thing like the rudiments of good sense; and it 
will not seem surprising that I was generally a 
welcome guest where I visited, or any great 
wonder that, always where two or three met 
together there was I among them. 

"But far beyond aU other impulses of my 
heart was tm penchant a V adorable moitie de genre 
humain. My heart was completely tinder, and 



LIFE OF BURJN-S. 10 

was eternally lighted up by some g-oddess or 
other; and as in eveiy other warfare in this world 
my fortune was various; sometimes I was receiv- 
ed with favour, and sometimes I was mortified 
with a repulse. At the plough, scythe, or reap- 
hook, I feared no competitor, and thus I set ab- 
solute want at defiance; and as I never cared 
farther for my labours than while I was in actual 
exercise, I spent the evenings in the way^ after 
my own heart. A countiy lad seldom cairies on 
a love adventure without an assisting confidant, 
I possessed a curiosity, zeal, and intrepid dex- 
terity, that recommended me as a proper second 
on these occasions; and I dare say, I felt as 
much pleasure in being in the secret of half the 
loves of the parish of Tarbolton, as ever did 
statesmen in knowing the intrigues of half the 
courts of Europe. The very goose-feather in 
my hand seems to know instinctively the well- 
worn path of my imagination, the favourite 
theme of my song; and is with difficulty restrained 
from giving you a couple of paragraphs on the 
love i^ventures of my compeers, the humble in- 
mates of the farm-house and cottage; but the 
grave sons of science, ambition, or avarice, bap- 
tize these things by the name of Follies. To 
the sons and daughters of labour and poverty, 
they are matters of the most serious nature; to 
them the ardent hope, the stolen interview, the 
tender farewell, are the greatest and most deli- 
cious parts of their enjoyments. 

** Another circumstance in my life, which 
made some alteration in my mind and manners 
was, that I spent my nineteenth siunmer on a 
smuggling coast, a good distance from home, at 
a noted school, to learn mensuration, surveying. 



yn LIFE OF £ URJ\rs. 

dialling,^ &c. in which I made a pretty good 
progress. But I made a greater progi-ess in the 
knowledge of mankind. The contraband trade 
was at that time very successful, and it some 
times happened to me to fall in with those who 
carried it on. Scenes of swaggering riot and 
roaring dissipation were till this time new to me; 
but I was no enemy to social life. Here, though 
I learnt to fill my glass, and to mix without fear 
in a drunken squabble, yet I went on with a 
high hand with my geometry till the sun enter- 
ed Virgo, a month which is always a carnival in 
my bosom, when a chsivmmg filette, who lived 
next door to the school, overset my trigonome- 
try, and set me off at a tangent from the sphere 
of my studies. I, however, struggled on with 
my sines and cosines for a few days more; but, 
stepping into the garden one charming noon to 
take the sun's altitude, there I met my angel. 

Like Proserpine gathering flowers. 

Herself a fairer flower 

It was in vain to think of doing any more good 
at school. The remaining week I staid, 1 did 
nothing but craze the faculties of my soul about 
ber, or steal out to meet her; and the two last 
nights of my stay in the country, had sleep been 
a mortal sin, the image of this modest and inno- 
cent girl had kept me guiltless. 

"I returned home very considerably improv- 
ed. My reading was enlarged with the very 
Important addition of Thomson's and Shen- 
stone's works; I had seen human nature in a 
new phasis; and I engaged several of my school 
fellows to keep up a literary correspondence 
witli me. This improved me in composition. I 
had met with a collection of letters by the wits 



LIFE OF BURJ^S. 21 

of Queen Anne's reign, and I pored over them 
most devoutly: I kept copies of any of my own 
letters that pleased me; and a comparison be- 
tween them and the compositions of most of my 
correspondents flattered my vanity. I carried 
this whim so far, that though I had not three 
farthings' worth of business in the world, yet 
almost every post brought me as many letters, as 
if I had been a broad plodding son of a day-book 
and leger. 

*' My life flowed on much in the same course 
till my twenty -third year. Vive VamouTj et vive 
la bagatdky were my sole principles of action. 
The addition of two more authors to my library 
I gave me great pleasure : Sterne and M*Kenzie 
— Tristi'am Shandy and the Man of Feeling — 
were my bosom favourites. Poesy was still a 
darfing walk for my mind; but it was only in- 
dulged in according to the humour of the hour. 
I had usually half a dozen or more pieces on 
hand; I took up one or other, as it suited the 
momentary tone of the mind, and dismissed the 
work as it bordered on fatigue. My passions, 
when once lighted up, raged like so many devils, 
till they got vent in rhyme; and then the con- 
ning over my verses, like a spell, soothed all 
into quiet! None of the rhymes of those days 
are in print, except Winter, a dirge, the eldest 
of my printed pieces; the Death of poor Mailie; 
John Barleycorn; the songs, first, second, and 
third.* Song second was the ebullition of that 
passion which ended the fore-mentioned school 
business. 

" My twenty-third year was to me an impor- 

* See Book II. vol i. p. l&2.—Book III. vol. i. p. 284— 
Book V vol. it. p. 278.— Book V. vol. ii.pp. 214, 241, 198. 



22 LIFE OFSURJ^S. 

tant era. Partly through whim, and partly that 
I wished to set about doing" sometliing in life, I 
joined a flax dresser in a neighbouring town 
(Irvine) to learn his trade. This was an un- 
lucky affair. My ***; and to finish the whole, 
as we were giving a welcome carousal to the 
new year, the shop took fire, and bu;'ct to 
ashes i and I was left, Hke a ti-ue poet, no* "yorth 
a sixpence. 

" I was obliged to give up this scheme; the 
clouds of misfortune were gathering thick round 
my father's head, and what was worst of all, he 
was visibly far gone in a consumption; and, to 
crown my distresses, a belle fille, whom. I adored, 
and who had pledged her soul to meet me in 
matrimony, jilted me with peculiar circumstan- 
ces of mortification. The finishing evil that 
brought up the rear of this infernal file, was my 
constitutional melancholy, being increased to 
such a degree, that for three months I was in a 
slate of mind scarcely to be envied by the hope- 
less wretches who have got their mittimus — 
' Depart from me, ye accursed!' 

"From this adventure I learned something of a 
town life; but the principal thing which gave my 
mind a turn, was a friendship I had formed with a 
young fellow, a very noble character, but a hapless 
son of misfortune. He was the son of a simple 
mechanic; but a great man in the neighbourhood 
taking him under his patronage, gave him a 
genteel education, with a view of bettering his 
siiuatJon, in life. The patron dying just as he 
was ready to launch out into the world, the 
poor fellow, in despair, went to sea; where, after 
a variety of e:ood and il! fortune, a little before 
I was arnuainted with liim, he had been set on 



LIFE OF BURKS 23 

shore by an American privateer, on the wild 
coast of Connaught, stripped of every tiling. 1 
cannot quit tliis poor fellow's , story without 
adding that he is at this time master of a large 
West-Indiaman belonging to the Thames. 

** His mind was fraught with independence, 
magnanimity and every manly virtue. I loved 
and admu-ed him to a degree of enthusiasm, and 
of course strove to imitate him. In some mea- 
sure 1 succeeded: I had pride before, but he 
taught it to flow in proper channels. His know- 
ledge of the world was vastly superior to mine, 
and I was all attention to learn. He Vtus tlic 
only man I ever saw who was a greater fool tlian 
myself, where woman was the presiding star? 
but he spoke of illicit love with the levity of a 
sailor, which hitherto I had regarded with hor- 
ror. Here his friendship did me mischief; and 
the consequence was, that soon after I resumed 
the plough, I wrote The Poet's Welcome.* My 
reading only increased, while in this town, :>y 
two stray volumes of Pamela, and one of Fer- 
dinand Count Fathom, which gave me some 
idea of novels. Rhyme, except some religious 
pieces that are in print, I had given up: but 
meeting with Ferguson's Scottish Poems, I 
strung anew my wildly-sounding lyre with emu- 
lating vigour. When my father died, his all 
went among the hell-hounds that prowl in the 
kennel of justice! but we made a shift to col- 
lect a little money in the family amongst us, 
with which, to keep us together, my brother and 
I took a neighbouring farm. My brother want- 
ed my hair-brained imagination, as well as my 

* This piece, we believe, was afterwards eJititkd, Addres.'i 
to an IHesitiinate CTiild 



24 LIFE OF BURJ^S. 

social and amorous madness; but in good sense, 
and every sober qualification, he was far my 
superior. 

" 1 entered on the farm with a fuU resolution, 
* Come, go to, I will be wise !' I read farming 
books; I calculated crops; I attended markets; 
and, in short, in spite of * the devil, and the 
world, and the flesh,' I believe I should have 
been a wise man; but the first year, from un- 
fortunately buying bad seed, the second, from 
a late harvest, we lost half our crops. This 
overset all my wisdom, and I returned, * like 
the dog to his vomit, and the sow that was 
washed, to her wallowing in the mire.' 

" I now began to be known in the neighbour- 
hood as a maker of rhymes. The first of my 
]ioetic offspring that saw the light was a burlesque 
lamentation on a quarrel between two reverend 
Calvinists, both of them dramatis personse in 
my Holy Fair. I had a notion myself that 
the piece had some merit; but to prevent the 
worst, I gave a copy to a friend who was very 
fond of such things, and told him that I could 
not guess who was the author of it, but that I 
thought it pretty clever. With a certain de- 
scription of the clergy, as well as laity, it met 
with a roar of applause. Holy Willie's Prayer 
next made its appearance, and alarmed the kirk- 
session so much, that they held several meetings 
to look over theh- spiritual artillery, if haply any 
of it might be pointed against profane rhymers. 
ITnluckily for me, n>y wanderings led me, on 
another side, within point blankshot of tlieir 
heaviest metal. This is the unfortunate story 
that gave rise to my printed poem, The Lament. 
This was a most melancholy affair, wluch I 



LIFE OF BURJ^S. Jio 

cannot yet bear to reflect on, and had nearly 
given me one or two of the principal qualifica- 
tions for a place among- those who have lost the 
chart, and mistaken the reckoning of rationality. * 
I gave up my part of the farm to my brother; in 
truth it was only nominally mine; and made what 
little preparation was in my power for Jamaica. 
But, before leaving my native country for evei', 
I resolved to publish my poems. I weighed my 
productions as Impartially as was in my power: 
I thought they had merit; and it was a delicious 
idea, that I should be called a clever fellow, even 
though it should never reach my ears — a pocr 
negro-driver; or perhaps a victim to that inhos- 
pitable clime, and gone to the world of spirits ! 
I can truly say, that pauvre inconnu as I then 
was, I had pretty nearly as higii an idea of my- 
self and of my works, as I have at this moment, 
when the public has decided in their favour. It 
was my opinion, that the mistakes and blunders, 
both in a rational and religious point of view, oT 
which we see thousands daily guilty, are owing 
to thei«' ignorance of themselves. To know 
myself, has been all along my constant study. I 

* TA»» distraction of mind arose from the misery and 
sorrow in wliich he involved Jean Armour^ afterwards Mi a 
Burns. She was a great favourite of her father. The in 
timation of a marriage was the first suggestion he received 
of her real situation. He was in the greatest distress, and 
fainted, away. The marriage did not appear to him to makt 
the matter better. He expressed a tcish that the agreement 
between them should be cancelled This was communicated 
to Barns. He felt the deepest anguish ofmiud. He offered. 
to stay at home, and provide for his loife and family by evny 
exertion in his putcrr. Even this was not approved of; and 
humble as Jean Armour^s station was, and great though lur 
imprudence had been, she was still thought by her partial 
parents, to look forward to a more advaHtugcous connexion 
than that wliich now presented itself. 
Vol I. C 



'JG LIFE OF B U]iJ\rS. 

! wei,<^1ied myself alone; 1 balanced myself with 

I others; I watched every means of information, 

j to see how much g-round I occupied as a man 

and as a poet; I studied assiduously nature's de- 
sig-n in my formation — where the lights and 
I shades in my character were intended. 1 was 

I pretty confident my poems would meet witli 

I some applause; but, at the worst, the roar of the 

j Atlantic would deafen the voice of censure, and 

i the novelty of West Indian scenes make mc 

I forget neg-iect. I threw off six hundred copies, 

^ of which I had got subscriptions for abo'.it three 

! liundred and fifty. My vanity was highly grati- 

1 fied by the reception I met with from the jjublic; 

I and besides, I pocketed, all expenses deducted, 

; nearly twenty pounds. This sum came very 

I seasonably, as I was thinking of indenting my- 

i self, for want of money, to procure my passage. 

As soon as I was master of nine guineas, the 
])rice of wafting me to the torrid zone, I took a 
steerage-passage in the first ship that was to sail 
from the Clyde; for 

Iluiigiy ruin had me in the wind. 
•'1 had been for some days skulking fi-oni 
covert to covert, under all the terrors of a jail; 
as some ill-advised people had uncoupled the 
merciless pack of the law at my heels.* 1 had 
taken the last farewell of my few friends, my 
cliest was on the road to Greenock; I had com- 
posed the last song I should ever measurri in 
Caledonia. The gloomy night is gathering fast 
— when a letter from Dr. Blacklock to a friend 
of mine, overthrew all my schemes, by opening 

* This ions to obli^rc him to find security for the m.iin- 
tnininic/'. of kis twill- children, whom he tons jiol pcritulttd to 
legitimate^ by a marriage with their mother. 



LIFE OF BURMS. 07 

new prospects to my poetic ambition. The doc- 
tor belong-ed to a set of critics, for wiiose ap- 
plause I had not dared to hope. His opinion, 
that I would meet with encourag-ement in Ediu- 
bnrg-h, for a second edition, fired me so much, 
that away I posted for that city, without a sing-lo 
acquainiance, or a sing-le letter of introduction. 
The baneful star that had so long shed its 
blasting influence in my zenith, for once made a 
revolution to the nadir^ and a kind Providence 
placed mc under the patronag-e of one of the 
noblest of men, the earl of Glencairn. Ouhlie 
71101, Grand Dieu, si jamais je V ouhlie! 

"I need relate no farther. At Edinburgh 1 
v/as in a new world; I mingled among many 
classes of men, but all of them new to me, and 
I was all attention to ' catch' the characters and 
* the manners living as they rise.' Whether 1 
have profited, time will show." 

His reception from men of letters, in general, 
was flattering. Dr. Robertson, Dr. Blair, Dr. 
Gregory, Mr. Stewart, Mr. Makenzie, and Mr. 
Frazer Tytler, perceived and acknowledged his 
talents. He was an acceptable guest in the gay- 
est and most elevated circles, and received from 
female beauty and elegance, those attentions 
above all others most grateful to him. Among 
men of rank and fashion, he was particularly 
distinguished by James, earl of Glencairn, who 
introduced him to the notice and the convivial 
society of the Caledonian Hunt. But while he 
was invited into the company of men of virtue 
and taste, he was also seduced, by pressing so- 
licitations, into the fellowship of those whose 
habits, without being extremely gross, were yet 
too licentious and dissolute. The festive indul 



28 LIFE OF BURJ^S. 

gences which he enjoyed among them, gradual- 
ly deprived him of his rehsh for the temperate 
and austere virtues. But whatever influence 
this change produced on his conduct and morals, 
his understanding suffered no correspondent 
debasement. He estimated his new friends and 
associates at their proper value; and manifested 
great discrimination in appreciating the charac- 
ter of those who imagined themselves men of 
tlie first order in the walks of hterature and 
fashion. 

"There are few of the sore evils under the 
sun," he observes, "give me more uneasiness 
•^nd chagrin, than the compai-ison how a man of 
genius, nay, of avowed worth, is received every 
where, witli the reception which a mere ordinary 
character, decorated with the trappings and 
futile distinctions of fortune, meets. I imagine 
a man of abilities, his breast glowing with honest 
pride, conscious that men are born -equal, still 
giving 'honour to whom honour is due;' he 
meets at a great man's table a squire something, 
or a sir somebody; he knows the 7ioble land- 
lord, at heart, gives the bard, or whatever he is, 
a sliare of his good wishes, beyond, perhaps, 
any one at the table; yet how will it mortify him 
to see a fellow, whose abilities would scarcely 
have made an eight-penny tailor, and whose 
heart is not worth three farthings, meet with 
attention and notice, that are withheld from the 
son of genius and poverty? 

*' The noble Glencairn has wounded me to the 
soul here, because I dearly esteem, respect and 
love him. He showed so much attention — en- 
grossing attention — one day, to the only block- 
head at table (the whole company consisted of 



LIFE OF BVRJ^S. 'iH 

his lordship, dunderpate, and myself,) that I was 
within half a point of throwing- down my gage ot 
contemptuous defiance; but he shook my hand, 
and looked so benevolently good at parting. 
God bless him! though I should never see him 
more, I shall love him until my dying day! I 
am. pleased to think I am so capable of the throes 
of gratitude, as I am miserably deficient in some 
other virtues. 

"With Dr. Blair I am more at my ease. I 
never respect him with humble veneration; but 
when he kindly interests himself in my welfare, 
or still more, when he descends from his piima- 
cle, and meets me on equal ground in conversa- 
tion, my heart overflows with what is called 
liking. When he neglects me for the mere car- 
cass of greatness, or when his eye measures the 
difl[erence of our points of elevation, I say to 
myself, with scarcely any emotion, what do I 
care for him or his pomp either? 

<' It is not easy forming an exact judgment of 
any one; but in my opinion. Dr. Blair is merely 
an astonisliing pi-oof of what industry and appli- 
cation can do. Natural parts like his are fre- 
quently to be met with; his vanity is proverbially 
known among his acquaintance; but he is justly 
at the head of what may be called fine writing; 
and a critic of the first, the very first, rank in 
prose: even in poetry, a bard of nature's making 
can only take the pas of him. He has a heart, 
not of the very finest water, but far from leing 
an ordinary one. In short, he is truly a wortliy 
and most respectable character." 

The respect and sympathy of Burns dwelt 
with keener emotion and more intense interest 
on the fate of Ferguson, than on the intercourse 



30 LIFE OF BURJJ-S. 

which he helil with persons of distinction. On 
the 6th of February, 1787, he addressed a letter 
to the baihes of Canong-ate, Edinburgh, request- 
ing- permission to erect a monument to his me 
mory. " Gentlemen," said he, *'I am sorry to 
be told that the remains of Robert Ferguson, 
the so justly celebrated poet, a man whose 
talents, for ages to come, will do honour to our 
Caledonian name, lie in your church-yard, among 
the ignoble dead, unnoticed and unknown. 
Some memorial to direct the steps of the lovers 
of Scottisli song, when they wish to shed a tear 
over the narrow house of the bard who is no 
more, is surely a tribute due to Ferguson's me- 
mory — a tribute 1 wish to have the honour of 
paying. I petition you, then, gentlemen, to 
permit me to lay a simple stone over his revered 
ashes, to remain unalienable property to his 
deathless fame." 

Burns, in consequence of this application, ob- 
tained leave to gratify his desire.* The inscrip- 
tion of the stone is as follows: 

* ^ correspondent of Burns, in alluding to this transac- 
tion, expresses himself in this manner : " So you have ob 
laincd liherty from the magistrates to erect a stone over 
Ferguson's grave ? I do not doubt it; such things have been^ 
as Shakspeare say's, ' in the olden time;' 

The poet's fate is here in emblem shown. 
He ask'd for bread, and he received a stone. 
ft is, I believe, iiponpoor Butler's tomb that this is written. 
But how many poor brothers of Parnassus, as well as poor 
Butler and poor Ferguson, have asked for bread, and been 
served with the same sauce! 

" The magistrates gave you liberty, did they ? O generous 
magistrates ! ******celebrated over the three kingdoms for 
his public spirit, gives a poor poet liberty to raise a tomb to 
a poor poet's memory! Most generous! ****** once upon 
a time gave that same poet the mighty sum of eighteen pence 
for a copy of his works. But then it must Ite considered 



LIFE OF BURJ^S. 31 

HERE LIES ROBERT FERGUSON, POET, 

Born September 5th, 1751.— Died 16th October, 1774. 

No sculptur'd marble here, nor pompous lay, 
" No storied urn, nor animated bust;" 

This simple stone directs pale Scotia's way 
To pour her sorrows o'er her Poet's dust. 

On the other side of the stone is as follows: 

" By special grant of the managers to Robert Burns, who 
erected this stone, this burial place is to remain for ever sacred 
to the memory of Robert Ferguson." 

Shortly after paying this mark of respect to 
the ashes of a kindred genius, he acquired by 
the new edition of his poems, a sum of money 
more than sufficient for his present exigencies. 
He therefore determined to gratify a desire he 
had long entertained, of visiting some of the 
most interesting districts of his native country. 
For this purpose, he left Edinburgh on the sixth 
of May; and in the course of his journey was 
hospitably received at the houses of several 
gentlemen of worth and learning. After pro- 
ceeding up the Tweed, through the counties 
of Roxburgh and Selkirk; penetrating into Eng- 
latid, as far as Newcastle; and crossing the island 
to Carlisle, he returned through Anan and Dum- 
fries to Ayrshire, after an absence of six months. 

It will easily be conceived with what pleasure 
and pride he was received by. his mother, his 
brothers and sisters. He had left them poor, 
and comparatively friendless; he returned to 
them high in puWic estimation and easy in his 
circumstances. He returned to them, unchanged 

that the poet was at this time absolutely starving, and be- 
sought his aid with all the earnestness of hunger; and over 
and above he received a ********, worth at least one-third of 
the value, in exchange, but which, I believe ahe poet afterwards 
very ungratefully expunged.'^ 



32 LIFE OF B URNS. 

in his ardent affections, and ready to share wuh 
them, to the uttermost farthing-, the pittance 
that fortune had bestowed. 

Having- remained with them a few days, he 
proceeded again to Edinburgh, and immediately 
set out on a tour to the highlands: from this 
journey he returned to his relations in his na- 
tive country, renewing his friendships and ex- 
tenchng his acquaintance. 

In August, he made another visit to Edin- 
burgh, whence he travelled in company with 
Mr. Adair through Linlithgow, Carron, Stirling, 
the vale of Devon, and Harvieston. In a visit 
to Mrs. Bruce of Clackmanan, a lady above 
ninety, the lineal descendant of that race whicl'i 
gave the Scottish throne its brightest ornament, 
his feelings were powerfully interested. Thf)ugh 
almost deprived of speech by a paralytic affec- 
tion, she preserved her hospitality and urbanity. 
She was in possession of the helmet and two- 
handed sword of her gi*eat ancestor, with which 
she confeiTed on her two visiters the honour of 
knighthood, remarking, that she had a better 
right to confer that title than som.e people. 

At Dunfermhne tliey visited the ruined abbey, 
and the abbey-chiu-ch, now consecrated to Pres- 
byterian worship. Here Mr. Adair mounted the 
cutty-stool, or stool of repentance, assuming the 
character of a penitent for fornication; while 
Burns, from the pulpit, addressed to him a ludi- 
crous reproof and exhortation, parodied from 
that which had been delivered to himself in 
Ayrshire, where he had once been one of seven 
who mounted the seat of shame together. 

la the church-yard two broad flag-stones 
marked the grave of Robert Bruce, for whose 



LIFE OF BURKS. 33 

memory Burns had a more than a common vene- 
ration, lie knelt and kissed the stone with 
sacred fervour, and heartily {suus ut mos erat) 
execrated the worse than Gothic neglect of the 
first of Scottish heroes. He afterwards returned, 
with Mr. Adair, to Edinburgh by Kinross, (on 
the shore of Lochleven) and Queen's ferry. 

These journeys, however, did not satisfy the 
curiosity of Burns. About the beginning of 
September, he again set out from the metropo- 
lis on a more extended tour to the highlands, in 
company with Mr. Nicol, assistant teacher in 
the high school. After passing through the 
heart of that mountainous division of their native 
country, they stretched northwards about ten 
miles beyond Inverness. There they bent their 
course eastward, across the island, and returned 
by the shore of the German sea, to Edinburgh. 
In the course of this journey, they visited a 
number of remarkable scenes; and the imagina- 
tion of Burns was constantly excited by the wild 
and sublime scenery through which he passed. 

Having settled with his publisher, in February, 
1788, he found liimself master of nearly five 
hundred pounds, after discharging all his ex- 
penses. To his brother Gilbert, who had taken 
upon him the support of their aged mother, 
SLXXi? was strugghng with many difficulties in the 
\ >m of Mossgiel, he immediately advanced two 
hundred pounds. With the remainder he re- 
solved on settling himself for life in the occupa- 
tion of agriculture, and took the farm of Ellisland, 
on the banks of the Nith, six miles above Dum- 
fries, on which he entered at Whitsunday. 

When he had in this manner arranged his 
plans for futurity, his generous heart turned 



31 LIFE OF BURXS. 

^o the object of his attachment; and llstenins^ to 
no considerations but those of honour and affec- 
tion, he led herto the altar, and joined with her 
in a pubhc declaration of marriag-e. His notice 
of this event to Mrs. Dunlop, is truly honourable 
to his feeling-s. "When Jean found herself," 
says he, "as women wish to be who love their 
lords," as 1 loved her nearly to distraction, we 
took steps for a private marriage. Her parents 
g"ot tlie hint; and not only forbade me her com- 
pany and the house, but on my rumoured West 
Indian voyag-e g-ot a warrant to put me in jail 
till I should find security in my about-to-be pa- 
ternal relation. You know my lucky reverse of 
fortune. On my eclatant return to Mauchline, 
I was made very welcome to visit my girl. The 
usual consequences began to betray her; and as 
I was at that time laid up a cripple in Edinburgh, 
she was turned — literally turned out of doors; 
and I wrote to a friend to shelter her till my 
return, when our man-iage was declared. IIf.u 

HAPPINESS OK MISERY WAS IN MT HANI'S; ANK 
AVHO COULD TRIFLE WITH SUCH A DEPOSITE?" 

He now engaged in rebuilding the dwelling 
house on his farm, which, in the state he found 
it, was inadequate to the accommodation of his 
family. On this occasion he resumed at times 
the occupation of a labourer, and found neither 
his strength nor his skill impaired. Pleased witli 
surveying the gi'ounds he was about to cultivate, 
and with rearing a habitation that might give 
shelter to his wife and children, and, as he fondly 
hoped, to his own gray hairs, sentiments of in- 
dependence buoyed up his mind; pictures of 
domestic content and peace rose on his imagina- 
tion; and a few days passed away, the most tran- 



^.! fe 3i ^urx]s. S5 



LIFE OF B URjYS. 35 

qui!, and perhaps tlie happiest he had ever 
experienced. 

His industry, however, was frequently inter- 
rupted by visiting- his family in Ayrshire; and as 
the distance was too great for a single day'a 
journey, he g-enerally spent a niglit at an inn on; 
the road. On such occasions he sometimes I'ell 
into company, and was drawn into irregular and 
intemperate habits. His appointment in the 
excise, wliich was completed in autumn 1789, 
likewise obstructed his agricultural pursuits. 
He was \niable to reconcile the business of the 
two occu])ations. His farm was in a g-reat measure 
abandoned to his servants, while he was engaged 
in performing his official duties. He might be 
seen, now and then, in the spring, directing his 
])lough, a labour in v/hich he excelled; or with 
a white sheet, containing- his seed-corn, slung 
across liis shoulders, striding with measured 
steps along his turned-uj) furrows, and scatter, 
ing the grain in the earth. But his farm no 
longer occupied the principal })urt of his tboug-hts. 
It was not at EUisland that he was now in gene- 
ral to be found. Mounted on liorseback, this 
high-minded poet was pursuing the defaulters 
of the revenue, among the hills and vales of 
Nithsdalc, his roving eye wandering- over the 
charms of natin-e, and muttering- his wayward 
fancies as he moved along. 

Besides his duties in the excise, other circum- 
stances interfered with his attention to his farm. 
He engaged in the formation and management 
of a society for purchasing and circulating books 
among the farmers of his neighbourhood; and 
occasionally occupied himself in composing 
songs for the musical work of Mr. JoKnson, 



J 



36 LIFE OF BURJ^S. 

then in the course of publication. These en- 
gagements, though useful and honourable, ne- 
cessarily contributed to the abstraction of his 
thoughts, and the neglect of his rural affairs. 

The consequences may easily be imagined. 
Notwithstanding the prudence and good ma- 
nagement of Mrs. Burns, he found it necessary, 
after the expiration of three years and a half, to 
relinquish his lease. His employment in the 
excise originally produced fifty pounds per 
annum. He was now appointed to a new dis- 
trict, the emoluments of which rose to about 
seventy. Hoping to support himself and his 
family" on this humble income till promotion 
should reach him, he removed to a small house 
in Dumfries about the end of the year 1791. 

His great celebrity made him an object of 
interest and curiosity to strangers, and few per- 
sons passed through Dumfries without an at- 
tempt to see him, and to enjoy the pleasure of 
liis conversation. As he could not receive them 
conveniently at home, these interviews passed 
at the inns of the town, and often terminated in 
convivial excesses. Among the inhabitants also, 
there were never wanting persons to lead or 
accompany him to the tavern; to applaud the 
sallies of his wit; and to witness at once the 
strength and tlie degradation of his genius. 

In the four years that he lived in Dumfries, 
he produced many of his beautiful lyrics; and 
cheerfully consented to give his aid to a collec- 
tion of original Scottish airs and verses, projected 
by George Thomson of Edinburgh. During 
this time he made several excursions into the 
neighbouring country, [n one of these he passed 
through Glendenwynes, a beautiful situation on 



LIFE OF BURKS, 37 

the banks of the Dee, in company with Mr. 
Syme, and reached Kenmore, where they re- 
mained three days at the seat of Mi'. Gordon. 
On leaving- Kenmore for Gatehouse, they took 
the moor-road, where every thing presented a 
wild and desolate aspect. The sky appeared 
to sympathize with the dreariness of the soil. It 
became lowering- and dark. Gleams of sheeted 
lig-htning were followed by the awful rolling- of 
thunder. Burns spoke not a word, but seemed 
wrapped in meditation. In a little wliile the i-ain 
began to fdl; and for three hoiu-s it poured in 
torrents on the waste. In the midst of this storm, 
though drenched as it were by the embattled 
elements, he remained absorbed in thought, 
wholly inattentive to the descending floods. 
He was equally regardless of every tiling around 
him during his ride home from St. Mary's isle^ 
and his companion did not venture to disturb 
him. Next day he produced the celebrated 
martial hymn, entitled Robert Bruce's Address 
to his Army, a hymn unparalleled in the annals 
of modern poetry, and equal to the happiest 
efforts of the greatest geniuses of antiquity. 

Burns had entertained hopes of promotion in 
the excise; but circumstances occurred which 
prevented their fulfilment. The events of the 
French revolution, which interested the feelings 
of every thinking mind, were commented on by 
Burns in a manner very different from what might 
have been expected from an officer under go- 
vernment. Inforniation of his sentiments were 
given to the board of excise; an inquiry was in- 
stituted into his conduct; and, after being repri- 
manded, he was suff'ered to retain his situation. 

This circumstance made a deep impression 



88 LIFE OF BURKS. 

on his mind. Fame exagg-erated his misfortune, 
and represented him as actually dismissed from 
his office; and this report induced gentlemen 
of much respectability to propose a subscription 
in his favour. But he refused the offer with 
great elevation of sentiment, and nobly defended 
himself against the imputation of having made 
submission for the sake of his office, unworthy 
of his character. 

*'The partiality of my countrymen," he ob- 
serves, *' has brought me forward as a man of 
genius, and has given me a character to support. 
In the poet I have avowed manly and indepen- 
dent sentiments, which I hope have been found 
in the man. Reasons of no less weight than the 
support of a wife and children, have pointed my 
present occupation as the only eligible line of 
life within my reach. Still my honest flime is 
my dearest concern, and a thousand times have 
I trembled at the idea of the degrading epithets 
that malice or misrepresentation may affix to my 
name. Often, in blasting anticipation, have I 
listened to some future hackney scribbler, with 
the heavy malice of savage stupidity, exultingly 
asserting, that Burns, notwithstanding the fan- 
faronade of independence to be found in his 
works, and after being held up to public view, 
and to public estimation, as a man of some 
g-enius, yet, quite destitute of resovu'ces within 
himself to support his borrowed dignity, dwin- 
dled into a paltry exciseman, and slunk out the 
rest of his insignificant existence in the meanest 
of pursuits and among the lowest of mankind. 

•*In your illustrious hands, sir, permit me to 
lodge my strong disavowal and defiance of such 
slanderous falsehoods. Burxs was a poob, man 



LIFE OF BURXS. 39 

FROM HfS BIRTH, AND AX KXCISEMAX BT NECES- 

srrr; but — 1 WILL say it! — the sterling of 

UlS honest worth, POVEIITY COULD NOT DE- 
BASE, ANII HIS IXDKrENDENT BuiTISH SPIRIT, 
OPPKKSSIOX I.IIGKT UKXn, BUT COULD KOT SUB- 
DUE." 

It was one of the last acts of his life to copy this 
heart-rending- letter into a book which lie kept for 
the purpose of recording such circtimstances as 
he thought worthy of preservation. Upwards of 
a year before his death there was an evident de- 
cl'ine in his personal appearance; and though his 
appetite continued unimpaired, he was iiimself 
sensible that his constitution was sinking. From 
October, 1795, to the January following, an ac- 
cidental complaint confined him to the house. A 
few days after he began to go abroad, he dined at 
a tavern, and returned home about three o'clock 
in a very cold morning, benumbed and intoxicat- 
ed. Tiiis was followed by an attack of rheuma- 
tism, which confined him about a week. His 
appetite began to fail, his hand shook, and his 
voice faltered on any exertion or emotion, i.i» 
pulse became weaker and more rapid, and pai» 
in the larger joints, and in the hands and feet, dc 
prived him of sleep. In the month of June, 1796, 
he removed to Brow in Annandale,aboutten miles 
from Dumfries, to try the effects of sea-bathing. 
Here he was invited to dinner by a lady in the 
neighbourhood; and as he was unable to walk, 
she sent her carriage for him to the cottage 
where he lodged. As he entered her apartment 
the stamp of death seemed imprinted on his 
features. He apjjeared already touching the 
bri.k -' eternity. His first salutation was, 
*<\\eli luiwam, have you any commands tor 



40 I^JFE OF BURXS. 

the Other world?" He ate little, and complained 
of having entirely lost the tone of his stomach. 
He spoke of his death without any of the osten- 
tation of philosophy, but with firmness and 
feeling-, as an event likely to happen very soon. 
His anxiety for his family hun.?^ lieavy upon 
him; and when he alluded to their approaching' 
desolation, his heart was touched with pure arid 
unmingled sorrow. 

At first he imagined that bathing in the sea 
had been of benefit to hini; the pains in his Hmbs 
were relieved; but this was immediately followed 
by a new attack of fever. When brought back 
to his own house in Dumfries, on the 13th of 
July, he was no longer able to stand upright. 
A tremor pervaded his frame; his tong'ue was 
parched, and his mind fell into a delirium, when 
not roused by conversation. On the second 
and third day the fever increased, and his 
strength diminished. On the fourth, the suffer- 
ings of this gi'eat, but ill-fated genius, were ter- 
minated; and a life was closed, which had been 
embittered by suffering, and insulted by un- 
merited calumny. 

When his death was known, it excited a deep 
and mournful sensation. It was felt as a loss which 
no earthly power could replace; as the extinc- 
tion of a prodigy whose appearance was rare 
and uncertain. He was lamented, not merely 
like a common individual, by friends and neigh- 
bours, but by a whole country, whose pleasures 
he had an exclusive capacity to augment. 

He left a widow and four sons. The cere- 
monial of his interment was accompanied with 
military honours, not only by the corps of Dum- 
fries volunteers, of which he was a member, 



LIFE OF nUR.YS. 



41 



but by the Fenclble infantry, and a reg-iment of 
Cinque Port cavalry then quartered in Dumfries. 
On the same day, by a coincidence singularly 
touching-, Mrs. Burns was delivered of a son, 
who did not long" siu-vive his father. 

Burns was nearly five feet ten inches in height, 
ajid of a form that indicated agility as well as 
strength. His well raised forehead, shaded with 
black curling hair, expressed vuicommon capa- 
city. His eyes were large, dark, full of ardour 
and animation. His face was well formed, and 
his countenance strikingly interesting. 

Of his general behaviour every one spoke in 
the highest terms. It usually bespoke a mind 
conscious of superior talents, not however un- 
mixed with the affections which beget familiarity 
and affability. His conversation was extremely 
fascinating; rich in wit, humour, whim, and oc- 
casionally in serious and opposite reflection. No 
man had a quicker apprehension of right and 
wrong, or a stronger sense of what was ridicu- 
lous and mean. Neither chicanery nor sordid- 
ness ever appeared in his conduct. Even in the 
midst of distress, while his feeling heart sunk 
under the secret consciousness of indigence, 
and the apprehensions of absolute want, he bore 
himself loftily to the world. He died in the 
utmost penury, but not in debt; and left behind 
him a name which will be remembered as long 
as departed worth and goodness are esteemed 
among men. 

After contemplat'ng the melancholy story of 
his Ufe, it is impossible not to heave a sigh at 
the asperity of his fortune, while we reprobate 
the conduct of those who drew him from mc 

Vol. I. D 



43 LIFE OF BVR.VS. 

Bimplicity of humble life, and left him a prey to 
anxiety and want, to sorrow and despair. 

Of his poems which have been so often print- 
ed and so eagerly rea'd, it is unnecessary to enter 
into a critical examination. All readers of taste 
and sensibility assign him the first place among 
the poets of his country; and acknowledge the 
presence of that " light from heaven," which 
consecrates and eternizes every monument of 
genius. 



GLOSSARY. 



The ch and gh have always tlie guttural sound. The 
sound of the English diphthong oo, is commonly spelled ou. 
The French u, a sound which often occurs in tlie Scottish 
language, is marked oo, or tn. The a in genuine Scottish 
words, except when forming a diphthong, or followed by an c 
mute after a single consonant, sounds generally like the broad 
English a in wall. The Scottish diphthongs ae always, and 
ea very often, sound like tlie French e masculine. The Scot 
tish diphthong cy, sounds like the Latin ei. 

A. ^irv, iron. 

Jlith, ail oath. 

Jiits, oats. 

Aiver, an old horse 

Jiizle^ a hot cinder. 

Jllake, alas.' 

Jllane, alone, solitary, single, 

tcilhout company, 
.^kicart, awkward, inelegant, 

untaught. 
Jliinast, almost, nearly, 
jlmaiig, among, mingled with 
An'', and, if. 
Ante, once, one time. 
Anc, one, and. 

Ancnt, over against, concern- 
ing. 
Anither, another, one more,. 
Ase, ashes, the remains of 

hurat coals. 
Asklent, asquint, aslant, 
Astccr, abroad, stirring. 
At.hart, athwart, wrong. 
Avghl, possession; as, in 
my aught, in all my posses- 
sion. 
Auldfarrcn, or auld farrent, 
sagacious, cunning, pru- 
itnt 



A\ all, every one, the whole. 
Aback, away, aloof. 
Abeigh, at a shy distance. 
Aboon, aboon, above, up, in 

the regions of heaven. 
Abread, abroad, in sight, at 

large. 
Abread, in breadth. 
Ac, one. 

Jiff, off. 

Aff-hand, extempore, imme- 
diately. 
Aff-loof, unpremeditated. 
Afore, before, sooner than. 
Aft, oft. 
Aften, often, frequently, 

many times, 
Agley, off the right line, ob- 
lique, wrong. 
diblins, perhaps, 
^ik, the oak, 
€ir, early, soon, 
dirl-pcnny, earnest-money, a 
piece of money for confirm- 
ing a bargain. 
dirt, quarter of the heavens; 
to direct. 



44 



OLOSSJiRY 



^uld lanrr syne, olden time, 

days of other years. 
Auld, old, ancient, advanced 

in years. 
Auntie, an aunt. 
Ava\ at all, of all, of any. 
Awa", away, absent. 
Awfu\ aicfiil, terrible. 
Awn, the beard of barley, 

oats, ($-c. 
Awvie, bearded- 
Ayont, beyond, at a distance, 

out of the reach of 

B. 

Ba', ball. 

Backets, ashhoards; a square 
wooden vessel for carryinff 
coals to the fire; a kind of 
box for holding salt. 

Backlins comin\ coming 
back, returning. 

Bad, did bid. 

Baide, endured, did stay. 

Bailie, a magistrate in Scot- 
land, ansioering to an 
alderman in Enn-land. 

Baggie, dimin. of bag, a fa- 
miliar term used to sig- 
nify the belly. 

Bainie, having large bones, 
stout. 

Bairn, a child. 

Bairntime, a family of chil- 
dren, a brood. 

Baith, both, likewise. 

Bake, a small cake or biscuit. 

Ban, to swear, to make an 
irreverent exclamation; re- 
proach, censure. 

Bane, bone. 

Bang, to beat, to strive, to 
excel. 

Bardie, dimin. of hard 

Barejit, barefooted, without 
shoes or stockings. 

Barmie, of, or like barm. 

Batch, a crew, a gang 



Batts, botts, small worms in 
the entrails of horses. 

Bnudrons, a cat. 

Bauld, bold, intrepid. 

Baiok, a strip of land left un 
ploua-hed, two or three feet 
in width; a ridge, a batik. 

Baws'nt, having a white 
strip down the face. 

Be, to let be, to give over, to 
cease. 

Bear, barley. 

Beastie, dimin. of beast. 

Beet, to add fuel to fire. 

Bcld, bald, without hair on 
the head. 

Bclyve, by-and-by. 

Ben, into the spence or par- 
lour. 

Benmost, innermost. 

Benlomond, a noted mountain 
in Dumbartonshire. 

Bcthankit, grace or short 
prayer after the time or act 
of eating. 

Beuk, a book. 

Bicker, a kind of wooden 
dish, a short race. 

Bie, or Bield, shelter. 

Bien, ii^calthy, plentiful. 

Big, to build. 

Biggin, building, a house. 

Bicririt, built. 

Bill, a bull. 

Billie, a brother, a young fel- 
low. 

Bing, a heap of grain, pota- 
toes, &c. 

Birk, birch. 

Birken-shaw, Birchen-wood 
shnw, a small wood. 

Birkie, a clever fellow. 

Birring, the noise of par- 
tridges, Si'c. when they 
spring. 

Bit, crisis, nick of timt- 

Bizz, a bustle; to buzz 

Blae livid 



GL0SS.1RY. 



45 



Elastic, a shrivelled dwarf, a 
term of canteiapt. 

Blastit, Ijlasted. 

Blate, bashful, sheepish. 

Blather, bladder. 

Bland, a Jlat piece of anij 
thin^; to slap. 

Bldw, to blow, to boast. 

Bleerit, bleared, sore with 
rhr.um. 

Blcert and bliv, bleared and 
blind. 

Bleezing, blazing, Jlamino-. 

Blcllum, idle, tal/ciiiff flloio. 

Blether, to talk idly; nun- 
sense. 

BleUCrin, talking idly 

Blink, a little white, a smiling 
look; to look kindly, to shine 

by fits. 

Blinker, a term of contempt. 

Blinkin, smirking, ogling. 

Blithe, or Btythe, cheerful. 

Blue-gown, one of those beg- 
gars who get annually, on 
the king^s birth-day, a blue 
cloak or gown,with a badge. 

Bluid, blood. 

Bluntie, snivelling. 

Blype, a shred, a large piece. 

Bock, to vomit, to gush in- 
termitttntly. 

Backed, gashed, vomited. 

Bodle, an old copper coin, of 
the value of pennies Scots, 
or one-third of an English 
penny. 

Bogles, spirits, hobgoblins. 

Bonie, or bony, handsome, 
beautiful. 

Bannock, a kind of thick cake 
of bread, a small janvark, 
or loaf made of oat-meal. 

Board, a board. 

Boortrce, the shrub elder; 
planted much of old in 
hedges of barn-yards, S,-c. 

Boost, behooved, must needs. 

Bore, a hole in tlu wall. 



Botch, blotch, an angry 
tumour. 

Bouk, body, a person. 

Bousing, drinking, quaffing. 

Boic-kail, cabbage. 

Bow-hongh"d, applied to the 
lower part of the thighs, 
whin crooked or bent out 
wards. 

Brackens, fern. 

Brae, a declivity, a precipice, 
the slojie of a hill. 

Braid, broad, plain. 

Br agin" t, reeled forward. 

Braik, a kind of harrow, an 
instrument used in hus- 
bandry. 

Braivge, to run rashly for 
ward. 

Brdk, broke, made insolvent 

Branks, a kind of wooQcn 
curb for horses. 

Brash, a sudden illness 

Brats, coarse clothes, rags 

Brattle, a short race, hurry 
fury. 

Br aw, fine, handsome. 

Brawlyt, or Brawlie very 
well, finely, heartily. 

Braxie, a morbid s/iecp. 

Breastie, dimin. of breast. 

Breastit, did spring up or 
forward. 

Brcckan,f(m. 

Breef an invulnerable or ir- 
resistible spell. 

Brecks, breeches. 

Brent, smooth. 

Brewin, brewing. 

Brie, juice, lir/uid. 

^^'S'y "■ bridge. 

Brunstane, brimstone. 

Briskct,the breast, the bosom 

Brither, a brother 

Brock, a badger. 

Brogue, a hum, a trick. 

Broo, broth, liquid, water. 

Brose, a kind of pcUagt 



46 



GLOSSARY. 



made by pouring boilivg 
water or broth oil. oat-vical, 
which is stirred while the 
water is poured; — a race 
at country tcrdilin(rs, who 
shall first reach the hride- 
prooni's house on return- 
ing' from church, so called, 
perhaps, from brrse being' 
allotted to the victor. 
Brownie, a spirit, supposed, 
till lately, to haunt old 
houses, particularly those 
attached to farms, and 
sometimes to do the drudge- 
ry of the servants during 
the night. 

Br ugh, a burgh. 

Bruilzie,a broil,a combustion. 

Brunt, did burn, burnt. 

Brust, to burst, burst. 

Buchan-bullcrs, the boiling of 
the sea amomj- the rocks on 
the coast of Buchan. 

Bucksin, an inhabitant of 
Virginia. 

Bught, a pen. 

Bughtin-time, the time of col- 
lecting the sheep in the pens 
to be milked. 

Buirdly, stout made, broad 
made. 

Bum-clock, a humming beetle 
that flies in the sumvier 
evenings. 

Bumming, humming as bees. 

Bummle, to blunder; a dolt, 
a stupid person. 

Bummler, a blunderer. 

Bunker, a window-seat. 

Bardies, dimin. of birds. 

Bare, did bear. 

Burn, water, a rivulet. 

Burnie, diniiii. of burn. 

Buskie, busby. 

Buskit, dressed finely, deco- 
rated. 

Bxuks, dresses. 

Bu.ilA. a bustle, to buetoe. 



Buss, buss, shelter. 
But, Bot, with, without. 
But an^ Ben, the country 
^ kitchen and parlour. 
By himsfl, lunatic, distract- 

'ed. 
Byke, a bee-hire, a crowd. 
Byre, a cow-house. 

C. 

Ca\ to call, to name, to drive 

Ca't, or Ca'd, called, driven, 
calved. 

Cadger, a carrier. 

Cadie, a Caddie, a person, a 
youn^ fdlow. 

Caff, chaff. 

Caird, a tinker. 

Cairn, a loose heap of stones. 

Calf ward, a small enclosur 
for calves. 

Cat Ian, a boy. 

Caller, fresh, sound, refresh- 
ing. 

Canie,or Cannie, gentle, mild^ 
dexterous. 

Cannilic,dcxterously, gently. 

Cantie, or Canty, cheerful, 
merry. 

Cantraip, a charm, a spell. 

Caprin, capering, skipping 
merrily. 

Cap-stane, cope-stone, key- 
stone. 

Careerin, cheerfully. 

Carl, an old man. 

Carl-hemp, the largest stalk 
of hemp, firmness of mind, 

Carlin, a stuut old woman. 

Cartes, cards. 

Caudron, a caldron. 

Cauk and keel, chalk and red 
clay. 

Cnuld, cold. 

Caup, a wooden drinking ves- 
sel. 
Cavie, a coop or pen forpml- 
try. 



GLOSS.^RY. 47 




Caird, driven. 


Cleekit, having cauoht. 




C^ssra, tuxes. 


Clinkin, jerking, clinking. 




1 Chanter, a part of a bnirpipe. 


Clinkumbetl, he who rings the 




Chap, a person^ a fellow^ a 


church-bell. 




bloio. 


Clips, sheers. 




Otaiip, a stroke, a blow. 


Clishmaclaver, idle convcrsa 




Chrckit, chttked. 


tion. 




Chcfp, a chirp; to chirp. 


Clock, to hatch; a beetle. 




i Chid, or Cheel,a ijoangfeUoto. 


Clockin, hatching. 




Chiinla, or Chiiitlie, a Jlrc- 


Cloot, the hoof if u cow, sheep, 




grati\ a fire-place. 


S.-C. 




Chimla-liiir, the fire-side. 


Clootie, an old name for the 




Chittcrin<r, shivcrivir, trem- 


Denil. 




Olinrr. ^ 


Clour, a liuvip, or swelling, 




Chockin, choking. 


aftira blow. 




Chow, to chew; check for 


Cliut, to beat, to strike; a 




j cliow, side- by side. 


blow, a cuff. 




Chnffie.fat-fucid. 


CUhU, clouds. 




Cliichan, a small vil/nge 


dunk, to guggle in the wan- 




about a chinch, a h unlet. 


ner of a bottle when it is 




Claise, or Claes, clothes. 


emptying. 




Clai'h. clclh. 


Coaxin, wherdling, flattery. 


1 


Clait.hnig, clothing. 


Collie, a fishing boat. 




Ctaivers, iwiiscHsc,iiot .s-ycak- 


Coekernony, a lock nf hair 




< inir sense. 


tied upon a girl's head; a 




Clnp, clapper of a mill. 


cop. 




Cloreif, wrote. 


Cockii, diniin. of cock. 




ChL^h, an iJlc tale, the .<torij 


Ciift, Lounht. 




of the day. 


Cog, a wooden dish. 




Clatter, to t,ll little idle 


Ciiggie, dun in. of cog. 




1 stories; an idle story. 


Coila, from Kyl<', a di.Hrict 




! Claaght, snatched at, laid 


of ..'iiir.-^hire; so called from 




hold of 


Coil or Coilus, a Pictish 




j Clout, to clean, to scrape: a 


monarch. 




1 heap, a great ijuanti/ij, 


Collie, a gnural, and some- 




1 abundance. 


times a particular name for 




\ Clouted, i^craped. 


country curs. 




Ctnvcr, clover. 


Collleshaugie, i/narrelling. 




Claners, idle stories. 


Ciivimuuii, command. 




Claw, lu scratrk. 


Coo:l, the cud. 




Clatc'd, scratched. 


Coif-!, a blockhead, a ninny 




Claijinore. a sword, a loeapon 


Cookit, appiarcd and disap 




used cither in cutting or 


paired by fits. 




thmstirig. 


Cooser, a horse k':pt for 




Cle^d, to chthc. 


VI arcs. 




(letds. clothes. 


Coo.<, did ca.<i. 




Cieek. to lay hold of after the 


Coo!, the ancle, or foot. 




manner of a hook, u sei:e 


Ciotir, a wooden kitchen disk. 




at all events 

1 

! 


fowls whoae legs a>e clad 







t 

48 GLOSSARY. 




Kith feathers, are said to 


Cronie, or Crony, an intimate 




be cootie. 


acquaintance. 




Corbies, a species of Ihe crow. 


Crood, or Croud, to coo as a 




Core, corpij, parts, clan. 


dove. 




Cum' t, fed with. oats. 


Croon, a hollow, continued 




Cotter, the inhabitant of a cot- 


woan; to make a noise like 




house, or cotta/re. 


the continued roar of a bull; 




Couthie, kind, loving. 


to hum a tune. 




Cove, a cave. 


Crooning, humming. 




Cuwe, to terrify, to keep 


Crouchic, crook-backed. 




under, to lop; a fright, a 


Crouse, cheerful,courageous. 




branch of furze, broom, S,-c. 


Crousely, cheerfully, coura- 




Cowp, to 'barter, to ticwble 


geously. 




over; a gan<r. 


Crowdie', a composition of 




C-owpit, ttimblfd. 


oat-meal and boiled water. 




Cowrin, coioering, stooping. 


sometimes from the broth of 




Cowt, a coll, a young horse. 


bcpf, mutton, &,-c. 




Cozie, snug. 


Crow lie- time,break fast time. 




Coziely, snutrly. 


Croidin, cratcling, creeping. 




Crahbit, crabbed, fretful. 


Cruinmock, a cow with crook- 




sour. 


ed horns. 




Crack, to converse, conversa- 


Crump, hard and brittle; 




tion. 


spoken of bread. 




Crackin, conversing. 


Crunt, a blow on the heal 




Craft, or Croft, in old hus- 


with a cudgel. 




bandry, afitid near a house. 


Cuif, a blockhead, a ninny. 




Crnigir, diinin. of crag, the 


Cummock, a short staff with 




throat, the neck. 


a crooked head. 




Craiks, birds, incessant caJls, 


Curchie, a courtesy. 




or cries. 


Curler, aplay.r at a frame on 




Crambo-clink, or Crambo- 


the ice, practised in Scot- 




jingle, rhymes, dogircrcl 


land, called cuilin:,'. 




vtrses. 


Curlie, cnrled; and whose 




Crank, the noise of an un- 


hair falls naturally in 




greased wheel. 


rinrrlcts. 




Crankous, frr.tfal, cnptiiias. 


Curling, a well known game 




Vranreuch, the hoir fr.st. 


on the ice. 




Crap, or Crop, the produce oj 


Curmiirriiig, murmuring, a 




land; to crop. 


siioht rumbling noise. 




Craw, a crow of a cock, a 


Carpin, the crupper. 




rook. 


Cushat, the dooe, or tcood- 




Creel, a kind of osier ba.^k.t; 


p iff eon- 




to have one's wits in a rreirl, 


Cutty, short, a. spoon broken 




to be crazed, to be fascinat- 


in the middle, a light wo- 




ed. 


man. 




Crecsliie, greasy. 


Cutty-stool, the stool an which 




Crooks, old ewes that have 


culprits sit when making 




given over bearing 


vublic satisfaction in tht 



GLOSSARY. 



49 



kirk for having committed 
fornication. 

D 

Daddie, a father. 

Daezt, slupifisd, deprived of 
vigour or sensibility. 

Daffin, merrimeiit, foolish- 
ness. 

Daft, merry, giddy, foolish. 

Diamen, rare, now and then. 

Diamen-icker, an ear of corn 
now and then. 

Dainty, pleasant, good hu- 
moured, agreeable. 

Dales, plains, valleys. 

Danton, to intimidate, to sub- 
due. 

Dam, urine, piddle. 

Darklins, darkling, being in 
the dark, void of light. 

Daud, to thrash, to abuse. 

Daur, to dare, to defy. 

Daurt, dared, defied. 

Daurg, or Daurk, a day's 
labour. 

Davoc, David. 

Dawd, a large piece. 

Dawtit, or Daulet, fondled, 
caressed. 

Dearies, dimin. of dears. 

Dearthfu' , dear. 

Deave, to deafen. 

Deil-ma-care! no matter for 
all that. 

Deleerit, delirious. 

Descrive, to describe. 

Devle, a stunnirtg blow. 

Diddle, to shake, to jog. 

Dight, to wipe, to clean com 
from chaff; cleaned from 
chaff. 

Dights, clean. 

Din, sallow. 

Ding, to worst, to push. 

Dinnat ^o ^ot. 

Dirlf a slight tremulous 
stroke or pain 



Dizzev, or Diz'n, a dozen. 
Doited, stxpified, hchatated. 
Dolt, stupified, crazed, a 

stupid fellow. 
Donsie, unlucky. 
Dool sorrow; to sing dool, to 

lament, to mourn- 
Doos, doves. 
Dorty, saucy, nice, discon^ 

tented. 
Douce, or Douse, sober, wise, 

prudent. 
Doucely, soberly, prudently. 
Dought, was, or were able. 
Dovp skelper, one who strikes 

the tail- 
Dour, sullen, obstinate. 
Doure, stout, durable, sullen, 

stubborn. 
Douser, more prudent. 
Dow, am or are able, can. 
Dowff, pithless, wanting 

spirit. 
Dowie, worn with grief, fa- 
tigue, ^-c. half asleep. 
Downa, am or are not able, 

cannot. 
Doylt, stupid. 
Drap, a drop; to drop. 
Dropping, dropping. 
Draunting, drawling. 
Dreep, to ooze, to drop. 
Dreigh,tedious , long about it. 
Dribble, drizzling, slaver. 
Driddle, to be diligent insig 

nificantly. 
Drift, a drove. 
Drodduni, the beech. 
Drone, part of a bagpipe. 
Drop-rumpVt, that droops at 

the crupper. 
Droukit, drenched, 7cet 
Drouth, thirst, drought. 
Drucken, drunken. 
Drumly, muddy, thick, ob 

scure. 
Drummock, meal and water 

mixed raw. 
Drunt, pet, sour humour 



50 GLOSSARY. 


Doup, the backside. 


Faulding, folding. 


I) lib, a snuili pond. 


Faut, fault. 


Duds, rags, clothes. 


FaiDSont, decent, seemly 


Duddie, ragged. 


Fe.al, a-licld; smooth. 


Dun<r, worsted, pushed, 


Fnarfu', frightful. 


driven, exhausted. 


Ftiar't, frighted. 


Dunted, beaten, bozed. 


Feat, neat, .-spruce. 


Dusk, to push as a rain, i?-c. 


Fecht, to fight; a struggle of 


Dusht, pushed by a ■'■am, ox, 


whatever kind. 


<V-c. 


Fitrhin, fighting. 




Fcr.htin, figiUing. 


E. 


Feek, many, plenty. 




Feckrt, icaislcoat. 


K'e, the eye. 


Ff.ckfu', large, brawny,stout. 


E'en, the eyes. 


Feckles, puny, weak, silly, 


E'enin, evening; the close of 


trilling. 


the day. 


Fecklii, weakly 


Eerie, frighted, dreading 


Feg, -a fig. 


spirits. 


F'-ide, feud, enmity. 


Kild, old age. 


Fell, keen, biting; the flesh 


Elbuck, the elbow. 


immr.diately under the skin; 


Eldritch, ghastly, frightful. 


a field pretty level, on the 


En', end. 


side or top of a hill. 


Enbrugh, Edinburgh. 


Fen, successful struggle, 


Eneugh, enough. 


fight. 


Especial, especially. 


Fend, to live comfortably. 


Eltlt, to try, to attempt, to 


Ferlie, or Ferly, to wonder, a 


endeavour. 


wonder, a term of contempt. 


Eydent,diligent, industrious. 


Fetch, to pull by fits. 




Fetch' t, pulled intermittently. 


F. 


Fey, foe. 




Fidge, to fidget. 
Fiel, soft, smooth. 


Fa\faU, lot; to fall. 


Fas', dopsfall; watPr falls. 


Fient, fiend, a petty oath. 


Fnddom't,fathonird. 


Fier, sound, healthy; a bro- 


Fae, a foe, un enemy. 


ther, a friend. 


Facm,foam. 


Fisle, to make a rustling 


Faiket, unknown, tinemploy- 


noise, to fidget; a bustle. 


ed. 


Fit, afoot. 


Fairin,a present at fair-time. 


Fizz, to make a hissing noisCy 


Fallow, 'fellow. 


like fermentation. 


Fand, did find. 


Flainen, flannel. 


Far I, a calc. of bread. 


Fleech, to supplicate, or en- 


Fash, trouble,care; to trouble, 


treat in a flattering man- 


to care for. 


ner. 


Fashions, troublesome. 


Fleech'd, supplicated. 


Fasht, troubled. 


Fleechin, supplicating. 


Fas tern een. Fas tern. t Eocn 


Fleesh. a fleece. 


Fautd, a fold; to fold 


Fleg, a kick, a rajithm blow. 



GLOSSARY. 



51 



Flether, to decoy by fair 
words. 

FletheriTt,fiaUprivff. 

Flewit, a smart blow. 

Fley, to scare, to fri<.rhle.n. 

Flichter, to flutter, as youvg 
nestlivgs, tchen their dam 
approaches. 

Flinders, shreds, broken 
pieces. 

Flivgin-tree, a piece of tiviher 
hvng by way of partition 
between tico horses in a 
stable; a flail. 

Flisk, to fret at the yoke. 

Fliskit, fretted. 

Flitter, to vibrate like the 
wings of small birds. 

Flittering, fluttering, vibrat- 
ing. 

Flunkic, a servant in livery. 

Foord, a ford. 

Forbears, forefathers , ances- 
tors. 

Forbye, besides, 

Forfain, distressed,worn out, 
jaded. 

Forfoughtcn, fatigued. 

Forgather,to meet, to enco'un- 
ter with. 

Forge, to forgive. 

Forjesket,jaded with fatigue. 

Forrit, forward. 

Father, fodder. 

FoH,full, drunk. 

Foughten, troiibled, harassed. 

Fouth, plenty, enough, or 
more than cnovi>h. 

Fote, a bushel, «ic.; also a 
pitchfork. 

Frae, frovi. 

Freath, froth. 

Frien\ friend 

Fu\full. 

Fud, the scut or tail of the 
hare, coney, <^-c. 

F^iff, to blow intermittently. 

Ptijrt' did blow. 

Fxi;mie,fuU of merriment. 



Fur, a furrow. 

Finm, a form, bench. 

Fyke, trifling cans; to piddle, 
to be in a fuss about trifles; 
to agitate. 

Fyle, to soil, to dirty, to pol- 
lute. 

FyVt, soiled, dirtied, polluted 



Gab, the mouth; to speak 
boldly, or pertly. 

Gabcrlunzie. an old man. 

Gadsman, ploughboy, the boy 
that drives the horses in 
the plough. 

Gae, to go. 

Gaed, went. 

Gaen, or Gane, gone. 

Gaun, going. 

Gaet, or Gate, way, manner 
road. 

Gang, to go, to walk. 

Gavgrd, strolling, wander- 
ing, rovijig. 

Gar, to make, to force. 

Gar' t, forced. 

Garten, a garter. 

Gash, wise, sagacious, talk- 
ative; to converse. 

Gashin, conversing. 

Gaury, jolly, large. 

Gawky, half-witted, foolish^ 
romping. 

Gear, riches, goods of any 
kind. 

Geek, to toss the head in 
7Dantonness or scorn. 

Ged, a pike. 

Gentles, great folks. 

Geordic, a guinea. 

Get, a child, a young one. 

Ghaist, a ghost 

Gie, to give. 

Gicd, gave. 

Girn, given. 

Giftie, dimin. of gift. 

Giglcts, playful ghls 



5a GLOSSARY. 


Oillie, dimiv. of ^U. 


Gowl, to haul. 


Oilpey, a half crown, half in- 


Gowling, howling 


formed boy orgirlf a romp- 


Graff, a grave. 


ing lad, a hoiden. 


Grain, or Grane, a groan; to 


Gimmer, an ewe from one to 


groan. 


two years old. 


Grain' d and Graunted, 


Gin, if, against. 


groaned and grunted. 


Gipsy, a young girl. 


Graining, groaning. 


Girdle, a round plate of iron 


Graip, apronged instrument 


for toasting cakes over the 


for cleansing stables. 


fire. 


Graith, accoutrements, fur- 


Girn, to grin, to twist the 


niture, dress. 


features in rage, agony, 


Grannie, a grandmother. 


^c. 


Grape, to grope. 


Girning, grinning. 


Grapit, groped. 


Gizz, a periwig. 


Grat, wept, shed tears. 


Glaikit, inattentive, foolish. 


Great, intimate, familiar. 


Glaive, a sword. 


Gree, to agree; to bear the 


Glazie, glittering, smooth 


gree, to be decidedly victor. 


like glass. 


Gree't, agreed. 


G'aum'd, aimed, snatched. 


Ch-eet, to shed tears, to weep. 


Gleg, sharp, ready. 


Greetin, crying, weeping. 


Gleib, glebe. 


Grippet, catched, seized. 


Glen, dale, deep valley. 


Grout, to wet the whistle of 


Gley, asquint, to squint. 


one's groat, to play a losing 


Glib-gabbet, that speaks 


game. 


smootlily, and readily. 


Grousome, loathsome, grim. 


Glint, to peep. 


Grozet, a gooseberry. 


Glinted, peeped. 


Grumph, a grunt; to grunt. 


Glintin, peeping. 


Grumphie, a sow. 


Gloamin, the twilight. 


Grun', ground. 


Glowr, to stare, to look, a 


Grunstane, a grindstone. 


stare, a look. 


Gruntle, the phiz, a grunting 


Glowr'' d, looked, stared 


noise 


Gloicran, staring 


Grunzie, the mouth. 


Goavan, looking or staring 


Grushie, thick, of thriving 


awkwardly. 


growth. 


Gowan, the flower of the 


Gude, the Supreme Being; 


daisy, dandelion, hawk- 


good. 


weed, ^-c. 


Guid, good. 


Gowany, gowany glens, dai- 


Guid-moming, good mom- 


sied dales. 


ing. 
Guide'' en, good evening. 


Gawd, gold. 


Gowff, the name of golf; to 


Guidman and Guidwife, the 


strike, as the bat does the 


master and mistress of the 


ball at golf. 


house; young guidman, a 


Gowff'd, struck. 


man newly married. 


Gowk, a cuckoo, a term of 


Guidfather, a father-in-law. 


contempt 





GLOSSARY. 



Oully,orGulUe,a large knife. 
Oumlie, muddy, turbid. 
Gumption, understanding, 

judgment. 
Gusty, tasteful. 

H. 

Ha\hall. 

Ha' Bible, the great Bible 

that lies in the hall. 
Hae, to have. 
Haen, had. 
Haet, fienthaet, a petty oath 

of negation; nothing. 
Haffet, the temple, the side of 

the head. 
Haffiins, nearly half, partly. 
Hag, a scar, or gulf in mosses 
or moors; an ugly old wo- 
man. 
Haggis, a kind of pudding 
boiled in the stomach of a 
cow or sheep. 
Hain, to spare, to save. 
Hain'd, spared. 
Hairst, harvest. 
Haith, a petty oath. _ 

Haivcrs, nonsense, speaking 

without thought. 
HaV, or Hald, an abiding 

place. 
Hale, whole, tight, healthy. 
Haly, holy. 

Hallan, a particular parti- 
tion wall in a cottage, or 
more properly a scat of 
turf at the outside. 
Hallowmas, Hallow-eve, the 

31st of October. 
Hame, home. 
Hamely, homely, affable. 
Hameward, homeward. 
Han\ or Haun\ hand. 
Hap, an outer garment, man- 
tle, plaid, Src; to wrap, to 
cover, to hap. 
Happer, a hopper. 
Sapping hopping 



Hap-step-an'-loup, hop, skip 

and leap. 
Harkit, hearkened. 
Ham, very coarse linen. 
Hash, a fellow that neither 
knows how to dress nor act 
with propriety. 
Hastit, hastened. 
Hand, to hold. 
Haughs, low-lying, rich 

lands, valleys. 
Haurl, to drasr, to peel. 
Haurlin, peeling. 
Haverel,ahalf-wiltedperson 

one who talks foolishly. 
Havins, good manners, de- 
corum, good sense. 
Hawkie, a cow, properly one 

with a white face. 
Healsome, healthful, whole- 
some. 
Heapit, heaped. 
Hearse, hoarse 
Hear' t, hear it 
Heartie, dimin. of heal 
Heather, heath. 
Hech! oh! strange! 
Hecht, promised to foreteli 
something that is to be got 
or given; foretold; the thing 
foretold; offered. 
Heckle, a board in which are 
fixed a number of sharp 
pins, used in dressing 
hemp, flax, &'C. 
Heeze, to elevate, to raise. 
Helim, the rudder, or helm. 
Herd, to tend flocks; one who 

tends flocks. 
Herrin, a herring. 
Herry, to plunder; most pro 
perly to plunder bird's 
nests. 
Herryment, plundering, de- 
vastation. 
Hersel, herself; alin a herd 

of cattle of anv soi,,. 
Het, hot. 
Hcugh. a crag a coal pU 



•a OLOSSJIRY. 


Hide and Hair, the carcass 


Hnwe-backit, sunk in the 


and hid>\ the whole. 


back, spoken of a horse, Src. 


Hilch; to hobble; to halt. 


Howff, a landlady, a house 


Hilchin, halting. 


of resort. 


Hiltie-skiltie, in rapid suc- 


Howk, to dig. 


cession. 


Howkit, digged. 


Himsel, himself. 


Howkin, digging. 
Howlet or Houlet. an owl 


Hiney, honey. 


Hing-, hang. 


Hoy, to urge. 


Hirplc, to walk crazily, to 


Hoift, urged. 


creep. 


Hoyse, a pull upwards. 


Hirplin, walking crazily. 


Hoyte, to amble crazily. 


Hisscl, so many cattle as one 


Hughoc, dimin. of Hugh- 


person can attend. 


Hunkers, tlie ham, the hinder 


Histie, dry, chapt, barren. 


part of the thigh. 


Hitch, a loop, a knot. 


Hurcheon, a hedgehog; a term 


Htzzie, huzzy, a young girl. 


of slight anger. 
Hardies, the loins, the crup- 


Hoddin, the jnotion of a sage 


countryman riding on a 


per. 


cart-horse; humble. 


Hushion, a cushion^ stock- 


Hog-scQre,a kind of distance- 


ings without feet. 


line, in curling, drawn 




across the rink. 


I. 


Hog shouther,a kind of horse- 




play, by justling with the 


/', in. 


shoulder; tujustle. 


Icker, an ear of com. 


Hool, outer skin or case, a 


ler-oe, a great grand child. 


nut-shell, pease-swade. 


Ilk, or Ilka, each, every. 


Hoolie, slowly, leisurely. 


Ill-willie, ill-natured, malu 


HoolicI take leisure! stop. 


cious, niggardly. 


Hoard, a hoard; to hoard. 


Ingine, genius, ingenuity. 


Hoordit, hoarded. 


Ingle, fire, fire-place. 


Horn, a spoon made of horn. 


Pse, I shall or will. 


Hornie, one of the many 


Ilher, other, one another. 


names of the devil. 




Host, or Hoast, to cough. 


J. 


Hostin, coughing. 




Hosts, coughs. 


Jad, jade; also a familiar 


Hotch'd, turned topsy-tur- 


term among country folks 


vey, blended, mixed. 


for a giddy young g-irl. 


Houghmagandie, fornica- 


Jag, to prick, to pierce. 


tion. 


Jauk, to dally, to tri/le. 


' Houp, hope. 


Jaukin, trifling, dallying 


Housie, dimin. of house. 


Jauntie, dimin. af jaunt. 


Hove, to heave, to swell. 


Jaup, a jerk of water; to jerk 


Hoo'd, heaved, swelled. 


as agitated water. 


Howdie, a midwife. 


Jaw, coarse raillery; to pour 


Hozoe, hollow; a hollow or 


out,to shut,tojerk as water 


dell. 


Jillit, a jilt, a giddy gir 

1 



OLOSSJSRT. 



55 



Jknp, to jump; slender in 
the waist, handsome. 

Jink, to dodge, to turn a cor- 
ner; a sudden turning a 
comer. 

Jinker, one who turns quick- 
ly, a gay sprightly girl, a 
toag. 

Jinking, dodging. 

Jirk, a jerk. 

Jo or Joe, a sweetheart, a fa- 
vourite. 

Jocteleg, a kind of knife. 

Jouk, tostoop,to bow thehead. 

Jow, to jow, a verb which in- 
cludes both the swinging 
motion and pealing sound 
of a large bell. 

Jundie, tojusile. 



King^s-hood, a certain part 
of the entrails of an ox, Src. 

Kintra, country. 

Kintra-coozer, a country 
stallion. 

Kim, the harvest supper, a 
chum; to churn. 

Kirsen, to christen, or hap' 
tize. 

Kist, a chest, a shop counter 

Kitchen, any thing that ia 
eaten with bread, to serve 
for soup, gravy, <^c. 

Kith, kindred. 

Kittle, to tickle, ticklish, like- 
ly- 

Kittlin, a young cat. 

Kiuttle, to cuddle. 

Kiuttlin, cuddling. 

Knaggie, like nags, or points 
of rocks. 

Knappin hammer, a hammer 



Kae, a daw. 


for breaking stones. 


Kail, colewort, a kind of 


Knowe,a small round hillock. 


broth. 


Knurl, a dwarf. 


Kail-runt, the stem of cole 


Kye, cows. 


wort. 


Kyle, a district of .Ayrshire 


Kain, fowls, <S-c. paid as rent 


Kyte, the belly. 


by a farmer. 


Kytke, to discover, to show 


Kebars, rafters. 


one's self. 


Kebbuck, a cheese. 




Keek, a peep, to peep. 


L. 


Kelpies, a sort of mischievous 




spirits, said to haunt fords 


Laddie, dtmtn. of lad. 


and ferries at night, espe- 


Laggen, the angle between 
the side and bottom of a 


cially in storms. 


Ken, to know. 


wooden dish. 


Ken'd or Kent, knew. 


Laiffh, low. 


Kinnin, a small matter. 


Lairing, wading and sinking 
in snow, mud, <^c. 


Kenspeckle, well-known. 


Ket, metted, hairy; a fleece of 


Laith, loath. 


wool. 


Laithfu,' bashful, sheepish, 


Kaiugh, carking anxiety. 


modest. 


Kilt, to tr7iss up the clothes. 


Lalland, a native of the low 


Kimmer, a young g^irl, ages' 


lands of Scotland. 


sip. 


Lallans, Scottish dialect 


Kin. kindred. 


Lambie, dimin. of lamb. 


Kin\ kind. 


Lampit, a kind of shell-iieK 


"" 


Lan\ land, estate 



56 



GLOSSJIRY. 



Lane^ lone, my lane, thy lane, 

&c. 
Lanely, lonely. 
Lang, long; to tliink long; to 

long, to weary. 
Lap, did l/'ap. 
L'lve, the reji, the remainder, 

the others. 
Laverock, the lark. 

awin, shut, reckoning bill. 
Lawlan, lowland. 
Lea, pasture, ground un- 

ploughed. 
Lea'e, to leave. 
Leal, loyal, true, faithful. 
Lea-rig, grassy ridge 
Lear, pronounced lare, 

learning. 
Lee-lang, live-long. 
Lecsonie, pleasant. 
Leczt me, a phrase of con- 
gratulatory endearment: I 
am happy in thee, or proud 
of thee. 
Leister, a three-pronged dart 

for striking fish. 
Leugh, did laugh. 
Lcuk, a look; to look. 
Libbet, gelded. 
Lie'n, lying. 
Lift, sky 
Lightly, sneeringly, to sneer 

at. 
Lilt, a ballad, a tune; to sing. 
Limmer a kept mistress, a 

strunipfl. 
LimpH, limped, hobbled. 
Link, to trip along. 
Linkin, tripping. 
Linn, a water-fall, a preci- 
pice. 
Lint, flax; linti' the bell,^ai 

in flower. 
Lintwhite, a linnet. 
Lippen'd, trxisted, put confi- 
dence in. 
Loan, or Loanin, the place of 

milking. 
Loof, the palm of the ^and. 



Loot, did let. 

J^ooves, plural of loof. 

Loan, a fclluw, a ragaintiffin, 
a woman of easy virtu*',. 

Loup, jump, leap. 

Lowe, aflame. 

Low in , flaniin g. 

Lowrie, abbreviation of Law- 
rence. 

Lowse, to loose. 

Lows'd, loosed. 

Lug, the ear, a handle. 

Lugsrie, a small wooden dish 
with handle. 

I^um, the chimney. 

Luch, a large piece of cheese, 
flesh, Src. 

Lunt. a column of smoke; to 
smoke. 

Luntiii, smoking. 

Lyart, of a mixed colour; 
gray. 

M. 

Mae, more. 

J\Iair, more. 

Maist, most, almost 

Maistly, mostly. 

J\[ak, to make. 

M'lkin, making. 

Mailen, a farm. 

Mallie, Molly. 

^Mang, among. 

Manse, the parsonage house^ 
where the minister lives. 

Mantcele, a mantle. 

Mark, or Merk; an ancient 
Scottish silver coin, in 
value thirteen pence and 
one-third of a penny ster- 
ling. 

Mark, marks. (This and 
several other nouns, which 
in English require an s to 
form the plural, are in 
Scotch,like the words sheep, 
deer, the same in both num- 
bers) 



GLOSSARY. 



5T 



Mar's year, the year 1715. 
Mashlum, Meslin, mixed 

com. 
Mask, to mash, as malt, iS-c. 

to infuse. 
Maskin-pat, a tea-pot. 
Maukep., a hare. 
Maun, must. 
Mavis, the thrush. 
Maw, to mow. 
Mawin, mowing. 
Meere, a mare. 
Meickle, or Meikle, much. 
Melancholius, mournful. 
Melder, corn, or grain of any 

kind, sent to the mill to be 

ground. 
Mell, to meddle; also a mallet 
^ for pounding barley in a 

stone trough. 
Melvie, to soil with meal. 
Men\ to amend, to reform, to 

changefrom worse to better. 
Mense, good manners, deko- 

rum. 
Menseless, ill bred, rude, im- 
pudent. 
Messin, a small dog. 
Midden, a dunghill. 
Midden-creels, baskets for 

holding dung. 



Moil, labour. 
Moistify, to moisten. 
Monie, or Many, many. 
Moop, to nibble as a sheep. 
Morlan', of or belonging U 

moors. 
Morn, the next day, tomor 

row. 
Mottie, full of motes or smal 

particles of matter. 
Mou, the mouth. ^ 
Moudiewort, a mole. 
Mousie, dimin. of mouse. 
Muckle, or Mickle, great, big 

much. 
Musie, dimin. of muse. 
Muslin-kail, broth composer 

simply of water, shellea 

barley, and greens. 
Mutchkin, an English pint. 
Mysel, myself. 

N. 

JVa, no. not, nor. 
JVae, no, not any. 
J^aeihing, or J^aithing, no 

thing. 
J^aig, a horse 
J\rane, none. 
J^appy, ale; to be tipsy. 



Midden-hole, a gutter at tha J\ratch,to lay hold of violently 



bottom of a dunghill. 

Mid, prim, affectedly meek. 

Min\ mind, remembrance. 

Mind't, mind it, resolved, in- 
tending. 

Minnie, mother, dam. 

Mirk, dark. 

Mirkest, darkest. 

Misca\ to abuse, to call 
names. 

Misca'd, abused. 

Mislear^d, mischievous, un- 
mannerly. 

Misteuk, mistook. 

Mither, a mother. 

Mixtie-maxtie, confusedly 
mixed. 
Vol. I. 



JVeebor, a neighbour. 
JVeglackit, neglected. 
JVeuk, nook. 
JVicst, next in order, or next 

in time. 
JtTieve, the fist. 
J^ievefu, a handful, a smaJt 

quantity. 
Jfieffer, an exchange; to ex- 
change, to baxter. 
J^Tiger, a negro. 
J^ine tailed cat, ahangman^s 

whip. 
JVi«, a nut. 
Borland, of or belonging U 

the north. 
JVottc't, noticed, observed 



£ 



58 

J^oicte, black cattle. 
O. 



GLOSSARY. 



0\ of. 

Ochels-, name jf mountains. 

O haitk! O faith! an oath,. 

0)iie, or Ony, any. 

Or, is often used for ere, be- 
fore. 

Orra, superfluous, unwanted. 

OH, of it. 

Oughtlins, in the least degree. 

Ouric, shivering, drooping. 

Oiirsel, or Oursels, ourselves. 

Outlers, cattle not housed. 

Ower, over, too. 

Owre-hip, a loay of fetching 
a blow with a hammer over 
the arm. 



Pack, intimate, familiar; 
twelve stone of wool. 

Paidel, to paddle, to play in 
water. 

Painch, the paunch. 

Paitrich, a partridge. 

Pang, to cram. 

Parle, speech. 

Parritch, oat-meal pudding, a 
well-known Scotch dish. 

Pat, did put, a pot. 

Pattle, or Fettle, a plough- 
staff. 

Paughty, proud, haughty. 

Pawky, or Pawkie, cunning, 
sly. 

Pay't, paid, beat. 

Peek, to fi tch the breath short 
as in an asthma. 

Pechan, the crop, the stomach. 

Peelin, peeling. 

Pet, a domesticated sheep; a 
great favourite. 

Pettle, to cherish; a plough- 
staff. 



Philbegs, short petticoats 
worn by highlandmen. 

Phraise, fair speeches, flat- 
tery; to flatter, to wheedle. 

Phraisin, flattery. 

Pibrock, a highland war song 
adapted to the bagpipe. 

Pickle, a small quantity. 

Pine, pain, uneasiness. 

Pit, to put. 

Placad, a public proclama- 
tion. 

Plack, an old Scotch coin the 
thirdpart of a Scotchpenny, 
twelve of which make an 
English penny. 

Placklcss pennylcss, without 
money. 

Plaid, an outer loose gar- 
ment. 

Platie, dimin. of plate. 

Pleugh, or Plew, a plough. 

Pliukie, a trick, a mischief. 

Pock, a bag; a small sack. 

Poind, to seize on cattle, or 
take the goods, as the laws 
of Scotland allow, for rent. 

Poortith, poverty, indigence. 

Pou, to pull. 

Pouch, a pocket. 

Pouchie, dimin. of pouch, 

Pouk, to pluck. 

Pouse, to push, to penetrate. 

Po2issie, a hare, a eat. 

Pout, a poult, a chick. 

Pou't, did pull. 

Pout her, or Powther, powder, 

Pouthery, like powder. 

Puw, the head, the skuU 

Poionie, a little horse. 

Preen, a pin, a pointed short 
piece of wire. 

Prent, print. 

F -ie, to taste. 

Prifi'd, tasted. 

Prief, proof. 

Prig, to cheapen, to dispute. 

Prig gin, cheapening. 

Prims ie, demure, precise. 



GLOSSARY. 58 


Proponcy to lay down, to pro- 


Reck, to heed. 


pose. 


Rede, counsel, to counsel. 


Provost, the first magistrate 


Rcd-wat-shod, walking in 


of a royal borough, answer- 


blood over the shoe tops. 


ing to Lord Mayor in Eng- 


Rcd-wud, stark mad. 


land. 


Ree, half. drunk, fuddled. 


Proveses,plural of Provost. 


Rtek, smoke, to smoke. 


Pund, vound, pounds. 


Ret kin, smoking. 


Pyle, 1 pvle o' caff, a single 


Rei kit, .'smoked, smoky. 


grai-H cf chnff. 


Rtmeod, remedy, alternative. 




Requite, required. 


Q. 


Rest, to stand restive. 




Restit, stood restive, stunted, 


Quak, to quake. 


withered. 


Quat, to quit. 


Rtstriked, restricted. 


Quey, a cow from one to two 


Rew, repent. 


years old. 


Ricf, or Reef, plenty. 




Ri.f- randies, sturdy beggars 


R. 


Rig, a ridge. 




Rill, to run, to melt. 


Ragweed, herb ragwort. 


Rink, the course of the stones, 


Raible, to rattle nonsense; to 


a term in curling on ice. 


talk foolishly. 


Riiinin, running. 


Pair, to roar. 


Ripp, a handful of unthr ash- 


Raize, to madden, to inflame. 


ed corn. 


Rom-feezV d, fatigued, over- 


Riskit, made a noise like the 


spread. 


tearing of roots. 


j Ram-stam, thoughtless, for- 


Rockin, a term derived from 


ward. 


those primitive times, when 


Randie, turbulent, irregular. 


neighbours met alternately 


unsettled. 


at one another's houses to 


Rantie, merry, cheerful. 


spend the evening; the fe- 


jovial. 


males, that they might en- 


Ruploch, properly a coarse 


joy the gossip without tfte 


cloth, hut used as an ad- 


imputation of idleness, 


noxLU for coarse. 


broui'ht their rocks or dis- 


Rarely, excellently, very well. 


tuffs 201th them. 


Rash, a rush. 


Rood, sUnids iiketoise for tha 


\ Rash-buss, a bush of rushes. 


plural roods. 


Ratan, a throb, a pulsation. 


Roon , a shred. 


Ration, a rat. 


Roose, to praije, to commend; 


Raucle, rash, stout, fearless. 


applause. 


Raught, reached. 


Roun\ round, in the circle of 


) Raw, a row. 


neighbourhood. 


Rax, to stretch. 


Roupot, hoarse as with a cold 


1 Rax'd, stretched, levied. 


Routhie, plentiful. 


1 Ream, cram; to cram. 


RoiD, to roll, to wrap. 


Reamin, brimful, frothing. 


Row't, rolled, wrapped. 


Reave, rove. 


Rowte. to low. to bclloie 

1 



GLOSSARY. 



Rowth, or Routh, plenty, 

Rowtin, lowing. 

Rozet, rosin. 

Rung, a cudgel. 

Rankled, wrinkled. 

Runt, the stem of colewort or 

cabbage. 
RtUh, a woman's name, the 

book so called; sorrow. 



Sae, so. 
Saft, soft. 

Sair, to serve; a sore. 
Sairly, or Sarlie, sorely. 
SairH, served. 
Sark, a shirt. 
Sarkit, provided in shirts. 
Saugh, the willow. 
Saul, soul. 
Saumont, salmon. 
Saunt, a saint. 
Saut, salt- 
Saw, to sow. 
Sawin, soioing 
Sax, six. 
Scaith, to damage, to injure; 

injury. 
Scar, to scare; a scar. 
Scaud, to scald. 
Scauld, to scold. 
Sco7ie, a kind of bread. 
Scanner, a loathing, to loathe. 
Soraich, to scream as a hen, 

partridge, <J-c. 
Screed, to tear; a rent. 
Scrieve, to glide swiftly 

along. 
Scrievin, gleesomely, swiftly. 
Scrimp, to scant. 
Scriinpet, did scant, scanty. 
See^d, did see. 
Seizin, seizing. 
Scl, self; a body's sel, one's 

self alone. 
SeWt, did sell 
Sen\ to send. 



Sen't, I, he or she sent, »r did 

send, send it. 

Servan\ servant. 

Session, an inferior spirit- 
ual court, of the kirk of 
Scotland, consisting of an 
assembly of elders, who sit 
in judgment, andpronounce 
sentence on Christian de- 
linquents. 

Settlin, settling; to get a set- 
tlin, to be frightened into 
quietness. 

Sets, sets off, goes away. 

ShackVd, distorted, deformed. 

Shaird, a shred, a shard. 

Shangan, a stick cleft at one 
end, for putting the tail of 
a dog, Src. into, by way of 
mischief, or to frighten him 
away. 

Shave, a trick, any thing done 
to cheat jocosely, or to di- 
vert. 

Shaver, a humorous wag, a 
barber. 

Shavie, dimin. of shave. 

Shaw, to show; a small wood 
in a hollow place. 

Shearer, a reaper, one em 
ployed in cutting down 
com. 

Sheen, bright, shining. 

Sheep-shank, to think one's 
self nae sheep-shank, to be 
conceited. 

Sherra-moor, Sheriff-moor, 
the field where the famous 
battle of that name was 
fought in the rebellion of 
1715. 

Sheugh, a ditch, a trench, a 
sluice. 

Shiel, a shed. 

Shrill, shrill. 

Shog, a shock, a pHSh off «( 
one side. 

Shool, a shovel. 

Skoon, shoes. 



GLOSSARY. 61 




Shore, to offer, to give, to 


Slypet,fell. 




threaten. 


Sma", small. 




Shor'd, offered. 


Smeddum, dust, powder, met 




Shouther, the shoulder. 


tie, sense. 




Sic, such. 


Smiddy, a smithy. 




Sicker, sure, steady. 


Smoor, to smother. 




Sidelins, sidelong, slanting. 


Smaor'd, smothered. 




Siller, silver, money. 


Smoutie, smutty, obscene. 




Simmer, a summer. 


ugly. 




Signet, singed, scorched, 


Smylrie, a numerous collec- 




despicable. 


tion of small individuals. 




Sin, a ^on. 


Shaking, the champing of a 




Sin\ since. 


dog's teeth when he aims at 




Siiiny, sunny. 


his prey. 




Sinsyne, since. 


Snapper, stumble. 




Skaith. See Scaith. 


Snash, abuse, Billingsgate. 




Skellum, a worthless fellow. 


Snaw, snow; to snotc. 




Skelp, to strike, to slap; to 


SnaiD-broo, melted snow. 




walk with a smart tripping 


Snawie, snuwie. 




step; a smart stroke. 


Sneck, latch of a door. 




Skclpi-limmcr, a technical 


Sncd, to lop, to cut off. 




term in female scolding. 


Sneeskin, snvff. 




Skelpin, Stopping, walking, 


Sneeshin-mill, a snvff box. 




eager, warm.. 


Snell,, bitter, biting. 




Skiegh, orSkeigh,proud, nice. 


Snick drawing, thick con- 




high-mettled. 


triving. 




Skinklin, a small portion. 


Siiick, the latchet of a door. 




Skirl, to shriek, to cry shrilly. 


Snool, one whose spirit is 




Skirling, shrieking, crying. 


broken with oppressive 




SkirVt, shrieked. 


slavery; to submit lamely, 




Sklent, slant; to run aslant, 


to sneak, to oppress. 




to deviate from truth. 


Snoove, to go smoothly and 




Sklented, ran, or hit in an 


constantly, to sneak. 




oblique direction. 


Snoicff, to scent or sjivff, as a 




Skreigh, a scream; to scream. 
Skyrtn, shining, making a 


dog, horse, <^-c. 




Snoickit, scented, snuffed. 




great show. 


Sodger, a soldier. 




Skyte, force, violence. 


Sonsie, having sweet engag- 
ing looks; lucky, jolly. 




Slade, did slide. 




Slae, a sloe. 


Soom, to swim. 




Slap, a gate, a breach in a 


South, truth, a petty oath. 




fence. 


Sough, a sigh, a sound dying 




Slaw, slow. 


on the ear. *' 




Slee, sly. 


Souple, flexible, swift. 




Sleest, slyest. 

Sleekit, sleek, sly, cunning. 


Souter, a shoemaker. 




Sowens, a dish made of oat- 




Sliddery, slippery. 


meal, the seeds of oat-meal 




Slype, to fall over, ns a icct 


soured, Src. boiled up till 




furrow fro^ the tloufrh- 







GLOSSJlR Y. 



they make an agreeable 

pudding. 
Sowp, a spoovfid, a S7nall 

quantitjj of any thing 

liquid. 
Sowlh, to try over a tune with 

a low whistle. 
Sowther, solder; to solder, to 

cement. 
Spar, to prophesy, to dioine. 
Spairn-e, to dash, to soil as 

with mire- 
Spaul, a limb. 
Spavic, the spavin. 
Spaviil, hairing the spavin. 
Spent, or Spate, a sweping 

torrent, after rain or thaw. 
Sprrl, to climb. 
Spett, to spit, to thrust 

through. 
Spence, the country parlour. 
Spiir, to n.fk, to inquire. 
Si'tierU., inquired. 
Splatter, a splatter; to splut- 
ter. 
S/diuch'in, a tobacco-pourh. 
Splore, a frolic, a noise, a 

riot. 
Sprattle, to scramble. 
Spreckled, spotted, speckle!, 

clambered. 
Spring, a quick nir in music, 

a Scottish reel. 
Sprit, a tough rooted plant, 

something like riuthes. 
Sprittle, full of spirits. 
Spunk, fire, mettle, wit. 
Spuvkie, mittlesome, fiery; 

will-o'-whi?!), or ignis 

fatuiis. 
Spurtle, a stick ured in mak- 
ing- oat-m'al pudding, or 

porridge, a notable Scotch 

dish. 
Squad, a crew, a parti/. 
Squatter, to flutter in icatcr, 

n.t a wild duck, Sr. 
Squ'-Utlc, to spraul, to strug- 



Squeel, a scream, a screech, ta 
scream. 

Stacher, to stagger. 

Stack, a rick of corn, hay, S-c. 

Staggie, dimin. of stag. 

Stalwart, strong, stout. 

Stan\ to stand. 

StaiCt, did stand. 

Stane, a stone. 

Stunk, did stink; a pool of 
standing water. 

Stap, stop. 

Stark, stout. 

Stiirtle, to run as cattle stung 
by the gad-fly. 

Staukin, stalking, walking 
with astatiiii step. 

Staunirel, a blockhead, half- 
witted. 

Stam, did steal, to surfeit. 

Stech, to cram the belly. 

Stcchin, cramming. 

Steck^ to shut; a stick. 

Steer, to molest, to stir. 

Stecue, firm, compacted. 

Stall, a still. 

Strn^ to rear as a horse. 

Struct, reared. 

Stents, tribute, dues of any 
kind. 

Siei/, steep. 

Strypst, sterpeft. 

Slibble, stubble. 

Stibhle-rig, the reaper in har- 
vest who takes the lead. 

Stick an'' stuw, totally, alto- 
gether. 

Stilt, a crutch; to halt, to 
limp. 

Stimpart, the eighth part of 
a IVincheslcr bushel. 

Stirk, a cow or bullock a year 
old. 

Stock, a plant or root ofccle- 
wvrt, cabbage, S,c. 

Stockin, stocking, Ihrowlnp 
t.'ie gtockin'; when thebnae 
end bridcg^room are put 
!*f 'r bfd zv^ **' '"'tdlt o%t\ 



OLOSS^RY. 63 


the former throws a stock- 


Swat, did stceat. 


ing at random among the 


Swatch, a sample. 


company, and the person 


Swats, drink, good ale. 


whom it strikes is the next 


Sweatin, sueuting. 


that will be married. 


Sweer, lazy, annse; dead- 


Stocked, made up in shocks as 


sweer, extrernehj averse. 


corn. 


Swoor, sirore, did swear. 


Stoor, sounding hollow, 


Sicinge, to beat, to strike, to 


strong and hoarse. 


whip. _ 


Stot, an ox. 


Swirl, a curve, an eddying 


Stoup, or Stowp, a kind of 


blast, or pool, a knot in 


jug, or di.^h, with a handle. 


wood. 


Stoure, dust, more particu- 


SiDirlic,knaggy,f all of knots. 


larly dust in nintion. 


Sicith, gtt away. 


StowUns, by stealth. 


Swithcr, tohrs.tate in choice; 


Stown, stolen. 


an irresolute wavering ir. 


Stoyte, stumble. 


choice. 


Strack, did strike. 


Syne, since, ago, then. 


Slrne, straw, to die a fair 




strae death, to die in bed. 


T. 


Straik, did strike. 




Straikit, stroked. 


Tockcts, a kind of nails, for 


Strappan, tall and handsome. 


driving into the heels of 


Straught, straight. 


shoes. 


Streek, stretched; to stretch. 


Tae, a toe; three tae'd, having 


Striddle, to straddle. 


three prongs. 


Stroan, to spout, to piss. 


Tairge, to examine; a target. 


Strunt, spirituoiis liquor of 


Tnk, to take. 


any kind; to id alk sturdily. 


Takin, taking: 


Studdie, an anvil. 


Tamtalla, the name of a 


Stumpie, dimin. of stump. 


mountain. 


Stuff, corn or pulse of any 


Tangle, a sea-weed. 


kind. 


Tap, the top. 


Sturt, troubled; to molest. 


Tapeless, headless, foolish. 


Sturtin, frighted. 


Tarrow, to murmur at one's 


Sucker, sugar. 


allowance. 


Sud, should. 


Tarrow't, murmur. 


Sugh, the continued rushing 


Tarry-breeks, a sauor. 


noise of wind or water. 


Tartan, a kind of cloth che- 


Suthron, southern, an old 


quered with stripes of va- 


name for the English na- 


rious colours. 


tion. 


Tauld, or Tald, told. 


Suiaird, sward. 


Taupie, afoolish, thoughtless 


Saaird, swelled. 


younic person. 


Swankie, or Swankrr, a tight 


Tautcd, or Tautie, matted 


strapping young fellow or 


together; spoken of hair or 


girl. 
Swap, an exchange; to barter. 


wool. 


Tawis, that allows itself 


Swr'f S3r-..'.>j. 

1 





54 GLOSSARY. 


peaceably to be handled; 


Thud, to make a loud inter 


spoken of a horse, cow, Src. 


mittent noise; a biota pro- 


Teat, a small quantity. 


ducing a dull heavy sound. 


Tedding, spreading after the 


Thumpit, thumped. 


mower. 


Thysel, thyself. 


Ten-hours -bite, a slight feed 


TiWt,toit. 


to the horses while in the 


Timmer, timber. 


yoke, in the forenoon. 


Timmer-propt, propped with 


Tent, a field pulpit, heed, cau- 


timber. 


tion; to take heed. 


Tine, to lose. 


Tentie, heedful, cautious, 


Tint, lost; tint the gate, lost 


wary. 


the way. 


Tentless, heedless. 


THnkler, a tinker. 


Teugh, tough. 


Tip, a ram. 


Thack,thatch; thack an' rape, 


Tippence, two pence. 


clothing, necessaries. 


T\rl, to make a slight noise., 


Thae, these. 


to uncover. 


Thairws, small guts, fiddle- 


Turlin, uncovering. 


strings. 


IHther, the other. 


Thankit, thanked. 


Tittle, to whisper. 


Theekit, thatched. 


Tittling, whispering. 


Thegither, together. 


Tocher, marriage portion. 


Themsel, themselves. 


Tod, a fox. 


Thick, intimate, familiar. 


Toddle, to totter like the walk 


Thieveless, cold, dry spited; 


of a child. 


spoken of a person's de- 


Toddlin, tottering. 


meanour. 


Toom, empty. 


Thir, these. 


Toop, a ram. 


Thirl, to thrill. 


Toun,a hamlet, a farm-house. 


Thirled, thrilled, vibrated. 


Tout, the blast of a horn or 


Thole, to suffer, to endure. 


trumpet, to blow a Aom, 


Thawe, a thaw; to thaw. 


<Src. 


Thowless, slack, lazy. 


Tow, a rope. 


Thrang, throng; a crowd. 


Towmond, a twelve-month. 


Thrapple, throat, windpipe. 


Touzie, rough, shaggy. 


Thraw, to sprain, to twist, to 


Toy, a very old fashion of 


contradict. 


female head-dress. 


Thrawin, twisting, r$-c. 


Toyte, to totter like old age. 


Thrown, sprained, twisted, 


Trams, shafts. 


contradicted,contradiction. 


T^ansmugrify'd, transmi- 


Threap, to maintain by dint 


grated, metamorphosed. 


of assertion. 


Trashtrie, trash. 


Threshin, thrashing. 


TVews, trowsers. 


Threteen, thirteen. 


Trickie, full of tricks, play- 


Tkristle, thistle. 


ful. 


Through, to go on with, to 


Trig, spruce, neat. 


make out. 


Trimly, excellently. 


Throuther, pell-mell, confu- 


Trow, to belteve. 


sedly. 


Trowth, truth, a petty «att. 



GLOSSARY. 



b5 



TVysted, appointed; to try ste, 
to make an appointment. 

Try't, tried. 

Tug, raw hide; of which in 
old times plough-traces 
were frequently made. 

Tuliie, a quarrel; to gtcarrel, 
to fight. 

Twa, two. 

Thca-thrce, a few. 

' 7\oad, it would. 

Twal, twelve; twal penny 
worth, a small quantity, a 
pennyworth. 

7\cin, to part. 

Tyke, a dog. 

U. 

Unco,strange, uncouth, very, 
very great, prodigious. 

Uncos, news. 

Unfauld, unfold. 

Unkenn d, unknown. 

Unsicker, unsure, unsteady. 

UnskaitK' d, undamaged, un- 
hurt. 

Unweeting, umoitting, un- 
knowing. 

Upo% upon. 

Urchin, a hedgehog. 



Vap^rin, vapouring, bully- 
ing, bragging. 

Vauntie, vain, proxid. 

Vera, very. 

Virl, a ring round a column, 
4-c. 

W. 

Wa\ wall. 

TVa's, walls. 

fFabster, a weaver. 

Wad, would; to bet; a let, a 

pledge, 
fradna, wovld not. 



Wae, woe, sorrowful. 
JVacsucks! or IVaes me. alas! 
O the pity. 

Waft, the cross thread that 
goes from the shuttle 
through the web; woof. 

Waifu', wailing. 

Wair, to lay out, to expend. 

i^ale, choice; to choose. 

WaVd, chose, chosen. 

Walie, ample, large, jolly; 
also an interjection of dis 
tress. 

TVame, the belly. 

Wamefou, a belly full. 

Wanchancic, unlucky, ill. 
omened, inauspicious. 

Wanrcstfu', restless, uneasy. 

Wark, work. 

Wurk-lume, a tool to work 
with. 

Warl, or World, world. 

Warlock, a wizard. 

IVarly, worldly, eager on 
amassing wealth. 

Warran, a warrant; to war- 
rant. 

Worst, worst. 

WarstVd, or WarsVd. wres- 
tled. 

Wastrie, prodigality. 

Wat, wet; I wat, / wot, 1 
know. 

Water-brose, brose made of 
meal and water simply, 
without the addition of 
milk, butter, <^-c. 

Wattle, a twig, a wand. 

JFauble, to swing, to reel. 

Waught, draught. 

Waukit, thickened, as fullers 
do cloth. 

Waukrifc, not apt to sleep. 

Waur, worse, to worst. 

WaurU, worsted. 

Wean, or Weanie, a child 

Wearie, or Weary; monie a 
weary body, many a dif 
ferent person. 



66 GLOSSARY. 


Weason, weasand. 


Whitter, a hearts draught of 


Weaving the stocking. See 


liquor. 


throwing the stocking. 


Whun-stare, a whinstone. 


page 62. 


Whyles, whiles, sometimes. 


Wee, little. 


Wi\ with. 


Wee things, little ones. 


Wick, to strike & stone in an 


Wee bit, a small matter. 


oblique direction, a term in 


Weel, well. 


curling. 


Weelfare, welfare. 


Wicker, willow {the smaller 


Weet, rain, wetness 


sort.) 


Weird, fate. 


Widdiefu\ wrathful, angry 


We'se, we shall. 


raging; one deserving the 


Wha, who. 


gallows. 


Whaizle, to wheeze. 


Widdle, struggle, bustle, 


Whalpit, whelped, brought 


effort. 


forth. 


Wiel, a small whirlpool. 


Whang, a leathern string, a 
piece of cheese, bread, Src; 


Wife, a diminutive or en- 


dearing term for wife. 


to give the strappado. 


Wilfu\ willing, full of will. 


Whare, where. 


Willyart, bashful, reserved. 


Whare^er, wherever. 


timid. . 


Whase, whose. 


Wimple, to meander, to run 


Whatreck, nevertheless. 


very irregularly. 


Whaup, the curlew, a kind of 


WimpVt, meandered. 


water-fowl. 


Wimplin, waving, meander- 


Wheep, to fly nimbly, to jerk; 


ing. 


penny-wheep, small beer. 


Win, to wind, to winnow. 


Whid, the viotion of a hare. 


Win't, winded as a bottom of 


running but not frighted; a 


yarn. 


lie. 


Win', wind. 


Whidden, running as a hare 


Win's, winds. 


or coney. 


Winna, will not. 


Whigmeleeries, whims, fan- 


Winnock, a window. 


cies, crotchets. 


Winsome, hearty, vaunted, 


Whingin, crying, complain- 


^'^y- 


ing, fretting. 


Wintle, a stuggenng motion; 
to stagger, to reel. 


Whirligigums, useless or- 


naments, trifling appen- 


Winze, an oath. 


dages. 


Wiss, to wish, to have a 


Whirrin\ whirring; the 


strong desire. 


sound made by the flight of 


Withouten, without. 


the partridge, Src. 


Witless, simple, easily im- 


Whisht, silence; to hold one's 


posed on. 


whisht, to be silent. 


Wizen'd, hide-bound, dried. 


Whisk, to sweep, to lash. 


Whiskin, large, sweeping. 


Wonner, a wonder, a con- 


Whiskit, lashed. 


temptuous appellation. 


Whissle, a whistle; to whistle. 


Wons, dwells, resides. 




Woo\ wool. 



GLOSSARY. 



Woo, to court, to make love to. 

Wbddie, a rope, more proper- 
ly one made of withes or 
willowst a halter, a gal- 
lows. 

Wooer -hab, the garter knot- 
ted below the knee with a 
couple of loops. 

Wordy, worthy. 

Worset, worsted. 

Wow, an exclamation of 
pleasure or wonder. 

Wrack, to tease, to vex. 

Wrail^, a spirit, ghost; an 
apparition exactly like a 
living person, whose ap- 
pearance is said to forbade 
the person's approaching 
death. 

Wrong, wrong; to wrong, to 
injure. 

Wreeth, a drifted heap of 
snow. 

Writers, attorneys, lawyers. 

Wud-mad, distracted, wild. 

Wamble, a whimble, an in- 
strument for boring holes. 

Wyle, beguile. 

Wylieeoat, a flannel vest. 

Wyte, blame; to blame, to ac- 
cuse. 



Y. 



Ye; this pronoun is frequent- 
ly used for thou. 

Year, is used both for singU" 
lar and plural years. 

Yearlings, born in the same 
year, coevals. 

Yearns, longs much, desires 
earnestly. 

Yell, barren, that gives no 
milk. 

Yerk, to lash, to strike, to 
jerk. 

Yerkitjerked, lashed, struck. 

Yestreen, yesternight, the 
night before. 

Yett, a gate, such as is usual- 
ly at the entrance into a 
farm-yard or field. 

YM, ale. 

Yird, earth. 

Yokin, yoking, a bout 

Yont, beyond. 

YourseV, yourself. 

Yowe, an ewe. 

Yowie, dimin. of yowe 

Yule, Christmas. 



PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. 



The following- trifles are not the production 
of the poet, who, with all the advantag-es of 
learned art, and perhaps amid the eleg-ances 
and idleness of upper life, looks down for a 
rural theme, with an eye to I'heocritus or Virgil. 
To the author of this, these and other celebrated 
names, their countrymen, are, at least in their 
original language, a fountain shut up, and a book 
sealed. Unacquainted with the necessary requi- 
sites for commencing" poet by rule, he sings the 
sentiments and manners he felt and saw in him- 
self, and his rustic compeers around him, in his 
and their native language. Though a rhymer 
from his earliest years, at least from the earliest 
impulses of the softer passions, it was not till 
very lately that the applause, perhaps the par- 
tiality of friendship, wakened his vanity so far 
as to make him tliink any thing of his worth 
showing; and none of the following- works were 
composed with a view to the press. To amuse 
himself with the little creations of his own fancy, 
amid the toil and fatigues of a laborious life; to 
transcribe the various feelings, the loves, the 
griefs, the hopes, the fears, in his own breast; 
to find some kind of counterpoise to the Strugs- 
gles of a world, always an alien scene, a task 
uncouth to the poetical mind — these were his 
motives for courting the muses, and in these he 
found Poetry to be its own reward. 



rO PREKICE. 

Now that he appears hi the pvihlic character 
of an author, he does it with fear and trembling. 
So dear is fame to the rhyming- tribe,that even he, 
an ol).sciire, nameless bard, sbrinks ag-hast at the 
thoug-ht of being- bi-anded as — an impertinent 
blockhead, obtr-ddlng bis nonsense on the world; 
and, because he can make a shift to jing-le a few 
dog-g-erel Scotch rhymes tog-ether, looking upon 
himself as a poet of no small consequence for- 
sooth. 

It is an observation of that celebrated poet, 
Sbenstone, whose divine eleg-ies do honour to 
our lang-uag-e, our nation, and our species, that 
*' Hiwiility has depressed many a g-enius to a 
hermit, but never raised one to fame!" If any 
critic catches at the word Genius, the a\ithor 
tells him, once for all, that he certainly looks 
upon himselfas possessed of some poetic abilities, 
otherwise his publishing- in the manner he has 
done, would be a manoeuvre below the worst 
character which, he hopes, his worst enemy will 
ever give him. But to the genius of a Ramsay, 
or the glorious dawnings of the poor, unfor- 
tunate Ferguson, he, with equal unaffected sin- 
cerity, declares, that even in his highest pulse 
of vanity, he has not the most distant preten- 
sions. These two justly admired Scotch poets 
he has often had in his eye in the following 
pieces; but rather with a view to kindle at theu- 
flame, than for servile imitation. 

To his subscribers, the author returns his most 
sincere thanks — not the mercenary bow over a 
counter, but the heart-throbbing gratitude of 
the bard, conscious how much he owes to bene- 
volence and friendship, for gi-atifying him, if he 
deserves it, in that dearest wish of eveiy poetic 



PREFJICE. 71 

bosom — to be disting-uished. He begs his read- 
ers, particularly the learned and the polite, who 
may honour him with a perusal, that they will 
make every allowance for education and circum- 
stances of life; but, if, after a fair, candid, and 
impartial criticism, he shall stand convicted of 
dulness and nonsense, let him be done by as he 
would in that case do by others — let him be 
condemned, without mercy, to contempt and 
oblivion. 



DEDICATION 

TO THE SECOND EDITIOIC. 



TO THK NOBLEMEN AND GENTLEMEN OF THE CALEDONIAN 
HUNT. 

My Lords and Gentlemen^ 

A ScoTTissi bai-d, proud of the name, and 
whose hig-hest ambition is to sing- in his Coun- 
try's service — where shall he so properly look 
for patronage as to the illustrious names of his 
native Land; those who bear the honours and 
inherit the virtues of their Ancestors? The 
Poetic Genius of my Country found me, as the 
prophetic bard Elijah did Elisha — at the Plough; 
and threw her inspiring- Mantle over me. She 
bade me sing- the loves, the joys, the rural scenes 
and rural pleasures of my native soil, in my native 
tongue; I tuned my wild, artless notes, as she 
inspired. She whispered me to come to this 
ancient Metropolis of Caledonia, and lay my 
songs under your honoured protection. 

Though much indebted to your goodness, I 
do not approach you, my Lords and Gentlemen, 
in the usual style of dedication, to thank you 
for past favours. That path is so hackneyed 
by prostituted learning, that honest rusticity is 
ashamed of it. Nor do I present this address 
with the renal soul of a servile Author, looking 
for a continuation of those favours: I was bred 

Vol. I. F 



74 DEDICATION 

to the Plough, and am independent. I come to 
claim the common Scottish name with you, my 
illustrious countrymen; and to tell the world 
that I glory in the title. I come to congratulate 
my Country that the blood of her ancient heroes 
still runs uncontaminated; and that from your 
courage, knowledge, and public spirit, she may 
expect protection, wealth and liberty. In the 
last place, I come to proffer my warmest wishes 
to the great Fountain of honour, the Monarch 
of the Universe, for your welfare and happiness. 
When you go forth to waken the Echoes, in the 
ancient and favourite amusement of your fore- 
fathers, may Pleasure ever be of your party; and 
may social Joy await your return! When ha- 
rassed in courts or camps with the jostlings of 
bad men and bad measures, may the honest 
consciousness of injured worth attend your re- 
tiun to your native Seats; and may domestic 
Happiness, with a smiUng welcome, meet you 
at your gates ! May corruption shrink at your 
kindling, indignant glance; and may tyranny in 
the RiJer, and hcentiousness in the People, 
equally find you an inexorable foe ! 

I have tlie honour to be. 
With the sincerest gratitude, 
And liighest respect, 

Mv Lords and Gentlemen, 
Vour most devoted humble Servant^ 

ROBERT BURNS. 
Edinburgh, 1 
ApnU, 1787.5 



F01i2MS. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 
Book I. 

MORAL, RELIGIOUS, AND PRECEPTIVE. 

THE TWJl DOQS 



'TwAS in that place o' Scotland's isle. 
That bears the name o' Auld King Coil., 
Upon a bonie day in Junf, 
When wearing thro' the afternoon, 
Twa dogs that were na tlirang at hame, 
Forgather'd ance upon a time. 

The first I'll name, they ca'dhim Casar, 
Was keepit for his Honour's pleasure ; 
His hair, his size, his mouth, his lugs, 
Show'd he was nane o' Scotland's dogs ; 
But whalpil some place far abroad, 
Where sailors gang to fish for cod. 

His locked, letter'd, braw brass collar, 
Show'd him the gentleman and scholar ; 
But Iho' he was o' high degree, 
Tlie fient a pride nae pride had he ; 
But wad hae spent an hour caressin', 
Ev'n wi' a tinkler-gipsey's messin ; 
At Kirk or market, mill or smiddie, 
Nae lauted tyke, tlio' e'er sae duddie, 
But lie wad stan't, as glad to see him, 
And .-^iroan't on stanes an' Iiillocks wi' him 



73 POEMS, 

The tither was a ploughman's collie, 
A rhyming, ranting, raving biiiie, 
Wha for his friend an' comrade had him, 
And in his freaks liad Luatk ca'd him, 
After some dog in Highland sang,* 
Was made lang syne— Lord knows how laiig 

He was a gash an' faithful tyke, 
As ever lap a sheugh or dyke, 
His honest, sonsie, baws'nt face, 
Ay gat him friends in ilka place. 
His breast was white, his louzie back 
Weel clad wi' coat o' glossy black; 
His gawcie tail, wi' upward curl. 
Hung o'er his hardies wi' a swirl. 

Nae doubt but they were fain o' itlier, 
An' unco pack an' thick thegither ; 
Wi' social nose whyles snutf'd and snowkit, 
Whyles mice and moudieworts they howkit ; 
Whyles scour'd awa in lang excursion, 
An' worry'd ither in diversion; 
Until wi' daffin weary grown, 
Upon a knowe they sat them down, 
And there began a lang digression 
About the Lords o' the Cieation. 
CiESAR. 

I've aften wondered, honest Luath, 
What sort o' life poor dogs like you have ; 
An' when the gentry's life I saw, 
What way poor bodies liv'd ava.' 

Our Laird gets in his racked rents, 
His coals, his kain, and a' his stents : 
He rises when he likes himsel' ; 
His flunkies answer at tlie bell ; 
He ca's his coach, he ca's his horse ; 
He draws a bonie silken purse 
As lang's my tail, where, thro' the steeks, 
The yellow-letter'd Geordie keeks. 

Frae morn to e'en it's nought but toiling, 
At baking, roasting, frying, boiling ; 
An' tho' the gentry first are stechin. 
Yet e'en the ha' folk fill their peciiin 
Wi' sauce, ragouts, and sic like.trashtrie, 
'''hat's little short o' downright wastrie. 

* CuthuUins dog in Ossiaji's Fingal. 



CHIEFL Y SCO TTISH. 

Our Whipper-in, wee blastit wonner, 
Poor worthless elf, it eats a dinner, 
Better thiiti ony tenant man 
His Honour has in a' ihe Ian' : 
An' what poor cot-folk pit their painch in, 
I own its past my comprehension. 
LUATH. 
Trowth, Ceesar, whyles they're fasht enough i 
A cotter howkin in a sheugh, 
Wi' dirty stanes begin a dyke, 
Boring a quarry, and sic like. 
Himsel, a wife, he thus sustains, 
A smytrie o' wee duddie weans, 
An' nought but his hand darg, to keep 
Them right and tight in thack an' rape. 

As when they meet with sair disasters. 
Like loss o' health, or want o' masters, 
Ye maist wad think, a wee touch langer. 
An' they maun starve o' cauld an' hunger; 
But, how it comes, I never kenn'd yet, 
They're maistly wonderfu' contented ; 
An' buirdly cliiels, and clever hizzies, 
Are bred in sic a way as this is. 
CiESAR. 

But then to see how ye're neglcckit. 
How hufT'd, and cuff'd, and disrospeckit! 
L — d, man, our gentry care as little 
For delvers, ditchers, an' sic cattle ; 
They gang as saucy by poor folk, 
As I wad by a stinking brock. 

I've notic'd on our Laird's court-day. 
An' mony a time my heart's been wae, 
Poor tenant bodies, scant o' cash. 
How they maun thole a factor's snash : 
He'll stamp and threaten, curse and swear, 
He'll apprehend them, poind their gear ; 
While they maun stan', wi' aspect humble ; 
An' hear it a', an' fear an' tremble! 

I see how folks live that hae riches ; 
But surely poor folk maun be wretches ? 
LUATH. 

They're nae sae wretched's ane wad think; 
Tho' constantly on poortith's brink : 
They're eae accustom'd wi' the sight. 
The view o't gles them little fright. 



78 POEMS, 

Then chance and fortune are sae guided. 
They're ay in less or mair provided ; 
An' the' fatigu'd with close employment, 
A blink o' rest's a sweet enjoyment. 

The dearest comfort o' their lives. 
Their grushie weans an' failhfu' wives ; 
The prattling things are just their pride, 
That sweetens a' their fire-side. 

An' whyles twalpennie worth o' nappy 
Can make the bodies unco happy ; 
They lay aside their private cares, 
To mind the kirk and state affairs : 
They'll talk o' patronage and priests, 
Wi' kindling fury in their breasts, 
Or tell what new taxation's comin', 
An' ferlie at the folk in Lon'on. 

As bleak-faced Hallowmas returns, 
They get the jovial, ranting kirns, 
When rural life, o' every station, 
Unite in common recreation : 
Love blinks, Wit slaps, and social Mirth 
Forgets there's Care upo' the earth. 

That merry day the year begins, 
They bar the door on frosty winds ; 
The nappy reeks wi' mantling ream, 
An' sheds a heart-inspiring st«am ; 
The luntin pipe, an' sneeslun mill, 
Are handed round wi' right gude will ; 
The cantie auld folks crackin crouse. 
The young anes rantin thro' the house— 
My heart has been sae fain to see then^, 
That I for joy hae barkit wi' them. 

Still its owre true that ye hae said, 
Sic game is now owre aften play'd. 
There's monie a creditable stock 
O' decent, honest fawsont folk, 
Are riven out baith root and branch, 
Some rascal's pridfu' greed to quencb, 
Wha thinks to knit hirasel the faster 
In favour wi' some gentle Master, 
Wha, aiblins, Ihrang a-parliamentin, 
For Britain's guid his saul indentin — 
C-<ESAR. 

Haith, lad, ye little ken about it ; 
Fbr BritairCaffuidl guid faith \ I doubt It; 



I 



-J 



CHIEFL Y SCO TTISU. 

Say, rather, gaun as Premiers lead him, 
An' saying aye or no's they bid him: 
At operas an' plays parading ; 
Mortgaging, gambling, masquerading ; 
Or, may be, in a frolic daft. 
To Hague or Calais takes a waft ; 
To make a tour, an' tak a whirl. 
To learn bon ton an' see the worl'. 

There, at Vienna or Versailles, 
He rives his father's auld entrails; 
Or by Madrid he takes the rout, 
To thrum guitars, and fecht wi' nowt ; 
Or down Italian vista startles, 
Wh-re-hunting among groves o' myrtles : 
Then bouses drumbly German water 
To mak himsel lock fair and fatter, 
An' clear the consequential sorrows, 
Love-gifts of Carnival signoras. 
For Britain's gnid 1 for her destruction ! 
Wi' dissipation, feud, an' faction. 
LUATH. 

Hech man ! dear sirs ! is that the gate 
They waste sae niony a braw estate I 
Are we sa^ foughten an' harass'd 
For gear to gang that gate at last ! 

O would ihey stay aback fiae courts, 
An' please themselves wi' countra sports, 
It wad for everv ane be better. 
The Laird, the Tenant, an' the Cotter ! 
For thae frank, rantin, ramblin billies, 
Fient haet o' them's ill-hearted fellows! 
Except for breakin o' their timmer, 
Or speakin liahtly o' their limmer, 
Or shootin o' a hare or moor-cock. 
The ne'er a bit they're ill to poor folk. 

But will you tell me, Master Cmsar, 

Sure great folk's life's a life o' pleasure 1 

Nae cauld or hunger e'er can steer them. 

The vera thought o't need na fear them. 

C^SAR. 

L— d, man, were ye but whyles whare I am. 
The geutlcs ye wad ne'er envy 'em. 

It's true, they need nae starve or sweat, 
Tluo' winter's cauld or simmpr'B heat • 



80 POEJaS, 

They've nae sair wark to craze their banes, 

An' fill auld age wi' grips an' granes : 

But liuman bodies are sic fools, 

For a' their colleges and schools, 

That when nae real ills perplex them, 

They make enow themsels to vex them ; 

An' ay the less they hae to sturt them. 

In like proportion less will hurt them. 

A country-fellow at the pleugh, 

His acres till'd, he's right eneugh; 

A country girl at her wheel, 

Her dizzen's done, slie's unco weel: 

But Gentlemen, and Ladies warst, 

\Vi' ev'n down want o' waik are curst. 

They loiter, lounging, lank, and lazy ; 

Tho' deil haet ails them, yet uneasy ; 

Their days insipid, dull, an' tasteless ; 

Their nights unquiet, lang and restless : 

An' e'en their sports, their balls, an' races, 

Their galloping thro' public places. 

There's sic parade, sic pomp, an' art, 

The joy can scarcely reach the heart. 

The men cast out in party matches, 

Then sowther a' in deep debauches ; 

Ae night they're mad wi' drink an' wh-ring, 

Niest day their life is past enduring. 

The ladies arm-in arm in clusters. 

As great and gracious a' as sisters ; 

But hear their absent thoughts o' ither. 

They're a' run deils an' jades thegither. 

Whyles o'er the wee bit cup an' platie, 

They sip the scandal potion pretty ; 

Or lee-lang nights, wi' crabbit leuks 

Pore owre the devil's pictur'd beuks; 

Stake on a chance a farmer's stackyard. 

An' cheat like ony unhang'd blackguard. 

There's some exception, man an' woman ; 
But this is gentry's life in common. 

By this, the sun was out o' sight, 
An' darker gloaming brought the night. 
The bum-clock humm'd wi' lazy drone ; 
The kye stood rowlin i' the loan : 
When up they gat, and shook their lugs, 
Rejoic'd they were na men but dogs ; 
An' each took aff his several way, 
Resoiv'd to meet some ither day. 



CHIEFL Y SCO TTISIL 
THE BRIGS OF AYll. 



Inscribed to J. B*********, Esq. ^yr. 

The simple Bard, iou<;h at tlie rustic plough. 

Learning iiis tuneCul trade from ev'ry bough ; 

The chanting linnet, or the mellow thrnsili. 

Hailing the setting sun, sweet, in the green thorn l>ush ; 

The soaring lark, tlie perching red-breast shrill, 

Or deep-ton'd plovers, gray, wild-whistling o'er the hill 

Shall he, nurst in the peasant's lowly shed, 

To hardy independence bravely bred, 

By early Poverty to liardship steeKd, 

And train'd to arms in stern Misfortune's field ; 

Shall he be guilty of their hireling crimes. 

Tire servile, mercenary Swiss of rhymes 7 

Or labour hard tlie panegyric close, 

With all the venal soul of dedicating prose? 

No ! though his artless strains he rudely sings. 

And tluows his liand uncouthly o'er the strings 

He glcws with all the spirit of the Bard, 

Fame, honest fame, his great, his dear reward ! 

Still, if some patron's gen'rous care he trace, 

Skill'd in the secret to bestow witli grace ; 

When B******** * befriends his humble name, 

And hands the rustic stranger up to fa:ne, 

Witli heart-felt throes his grateful bosom swells, 

The god-like bliss, to give, alone excels. 



s. \ 

piles, > 



'Twas when tlie stacks get on their winter-hap, 
And thack and rape secure the toil-worn crap ; 
Potato-bings are snucged up frae skaith 
Of coming Winter's biting, frosty breath ; 
The bees, rejoicing o'er their summer toils. 
UnmuTibered buds an' flowers' delicious spoils, 
Seal'd np with frugal care in massive waxen 
Are doom'd by man, that tyrant o'er the weak 
The death o' devils sinoor'd wi' brimstone reek ; 
The thundering guns are heard on ev'ry side. 
The wounded coveys, reeling, scatter wide ; 
The feather'd fielil-mates, bound by nature's tW>, 
Sires, mothers, children, in one carnage lie : 
(What warm, poetic heart, but inly bleeds. 
And execrates man's savage, rutliless deeds !) 



82 POEMS, 

Nae mair the flow'r in field or meadow springs ; 

Nae mair the grove with airy concert rings, 

Excrpt perliaps tiie Robin's whistling glee, 

Proud o' the hei<;ht o' some bit half-lang tree ; 

The hoary morns precede the sunny days, 

Mild, calm, serene, wide spreads the noon-tide blaze, 

While thick the gossamour waves wanton in the rays. 

'Twas in that season, when a simple Bard, 

Unknown and poor, simplicity's reward ; 

Ae night, within the ancient burgh of ./3yr, 

By whim inspir'd, or haply press'd wi' care: 

He left his bed, and took his wayward route. 

And down by Simpfion's*- wheel'd the left about; 

(Whether impelled by all-directing Fate, 

To witness what I after shall narrate ; 

Or whether, rapt in meditation high, 

He wandered out h* knew not where nor why :) 

The drowsy Diivo-eon-clock^ had numbered two, 

And IVallace TowW\ had sworn the fact was true : 

The tideswoln Firth, with sullen-sounding roar. 

Through the still night dashed hoarse along the shore : 

All else was hush'd as nature's closed e'e ; 

The silent moon shone high o'er tow'r and tree: 

The chilly frost, beneath the silver beam. 

Crept, gently-crusting, o'er the glittering stream — 

When lo ! on either hand the list'ning Bard, 

The clanging sugh of whistling wings he heard; 

Two dusky forms dart thro' the midnight air, 

Swift as the GosX drives on the wheeling hare ; 

Ane on th' Jiuld Brio- his airy shape uprears, 

The ither flutters o'er the rising piers: 

Out warlock rhymer instantly descry'd 

The Sprites that owre the Brifrs of Jlyr preside. 

(That bards are second-sighted is nae joke, 

And ken the lingo o' the sp'ritual folk ; 

Fays, Spunkies, Kelpies, a', they can explain them, 

And ev'n the vera deils they brawly ken them.) 

Auhl Brig appear'd of ancient Pictish race, 

The vera wrinkles Gothic in his face: 

He seemed as he wi' Time had warstl'd lang, 

Yet teughly donre, he bade an unco bang. 

JVea? Brig was buskii in a braw new coat, 

That he, at Lon'on^ frae ane Jldams^ got: 

In's hand five taper staves as smooth's a bead, 

Wi' virls an' whirlygigums at the head. 

* A noted tavern at the Auld Brig end. T The fv« 

gteeples. t The goshawk^ or falcon. 



CHIEFL Y SCO TTISII. 83 

TliP Goth was stalking round with anxious search, 
Spying the time-worn flaws in ev'ry arch ; 
It chanc'd his new come neebour took Jiis e'e, 
Anil e'en a vex'd and angry heart had he ! 
Wi' thieveless sneer to see his modisli mien, 
He, down tlie water, gives him this guide'en : — 

AULD BRIG. 
I doubt na, frien', ye'Il think ye're nae sheep-shank 
Ance ye were streekit o'er from bank to bank ! 
But gin ye be a brig as au!d as me, 
Tbo' faith, that day I doubt ye'lI never see ; 
There'll be, if that date come, I'll wad a boddle, 
Some fewer vvliigmeleeries in your noddle. 

NEW BRIG. 
Auld Vandal, ye but show your little mense, 
Just much about it wi' your scanty sense ; 
Will your poor, narrow foot-path of a street. 
Where twa wheel-barrows tremble when they meet, 
Your ruin'd formless bulk o' stanc an' lime, 
Compare wi' bonie Brigs o' modern lime? 
There's men o' taste would take the Duckat stream,* 
Tho' they should cast the very sark and swim, 
Ere they would grate their feeeiirgs vi' the view 
C *sic an ugly, Gothic hulk as you. 

AU1.D HRIG. 
Conceited gowk: puff'd up wi' vvindy pride! 
This mony a j-ear I've stood the floful an' tide ; 
An' iho* wi' crazy eild I'u) sair forfairn, 
I'll J»e a Brig, when ye're a shapeless cairn! 
As yet ye little ken about the matter, 
But twa-three winters will inform you better. 
When heavy, dark, continued a'-day laiiis, 
Wi' deepening deluges o'erflow the plains; 
Whi.n from the hiils where springs the brawling Coil, 
Or stately l.ugar's mossy fountains boil, 
Or where lhe~ (rreeiiock winds his moorland course, 
Or haunted Garpal\ draws his feeble source, 
Arous'd by blusi'ring winds an' spotting thowes, 
In many a torrent down his sna'broo rowes 

• A notrri ford just aborr. the Auld Brig. 

t The bavks of Garpal Water is one of the few places in 
the west of Scotland, where those fancy-searing beings, 
knotcn by the name of GliaisU?, still continue pertinacioutljf 
to inhabit. 



knee, 1 
or sea. ) 



84 POEMS, 

While crashing ice, borne on the roaring speat, 
Sweeps dams, an' mills, an' brics, a' to the gate ; 
And from Glcnbnck* down to "the Ratton-key,\ 
Auld .^vr is just one lencthen'd, tumbling sea ; 
Then down ye'Il hurl— deil nor ye never rise ! 
And dash the gumlie jaups up to the pouring skies: 
A lesson sadly teaching, to your cost, 
That Architecture's noble art is lost! 

NEW BRIG. 
Fine Jlrr.hitrcture I trowth, I needs must say't o't ! 
The L— d be thankit that we've tint the gate o't! 
Gaunt, ghastly, phaist-alluring edifices, 
Ilanginc with threat'ning jut, like precipices; 
O'er-archins, mouldy, gloom-inspiring coves, 
Supporting roofs fantastic, stony groves ; 
Windows and doors, in nameless sculpture drest, 
With order, symmetry, or taste, unblest ; 
Forms like some bedlam-statuary's dream, 
The craz'd creations of misguided whim 
Forms mieht be worshipp'd on the bended knee, 
And still the second dread coiinnavd be free, 
Their likeness is not found on earth, in air, ors 
Mansions that would disgrace the building taste 
Of any mason reptile, bird or beast ; 
Fit only for a doited Monkish rare, 
Or frost v maids, forsworn the dear embrace, 
Or Cnifrt of latter times, wlia held the noti(m 
That sullen gloom was sterling, true d'-votion ; 
Fancies that our guid T.urgh denies protection. 
And soon may they expire, unbless'd with resurrection ! 

AULD BRTG. 
O ye, my d^ar-remember'd, ancient yealings. 
Were ye but here to share my wounded feelings ! 
Ye worthy Provrsrs, an' mony a Bai'lir, 
Wha in the paths of righteousness did toil ay ; 
Ye dainty Deacovs, and ye douce ConvcevrrSy 
To whom our moderns are but causey-cleaners ; 
Ye godly Councils wha hae bless'd this town ; 
Ye ffodly Brethren of the sacred gown, 
Wha meekly cae your hurrlirs to the smitcrs; 
And (what would now be strange) ye godly writers: 
A' ye douce folk I've borne alKxm the broo, 
Were ye but here, wliat would ye say or do? 

• The source of the river Ayr. \ A small landing 

place above the lar^c key. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 85 

How would your spirits groan in deep vexation, 
To see each raelanclioly alteration ; 
And agonizing, curse the time and place 
When ye begat the base, degen'rate race I 
Nae langer Ilev'rend Men, their country's glory, 
Inplaui braid Scots hold forth a plain braid story, 
Nae langer thrifty Citizens, an' douce, 
Meet owre a pint, or in the Council-house ; 
But staurarel, corky-headed, graceless gentry ; 
The herryment and ruin of the country ; 
Men, tliree-parts made by Tailors and by Barbers, 
Wha waste your wheel-luiin'dgear on d— d new Brigs and 
Harbours I 

NEW BRIG. 
Now hand you there ! for faith ye've said enough, 
And muckle mair than ye can make to through. 

As for your Priesthood, I shall say but little. 

Corbies and Clergij are a shot right kittle ; 

But under favour o' your langer beard. 

Abuse o' magistrates might weel be spar'd : 

To liken them to your auld warld squad, 

I must needs say, comparisons are odd. 

In Jiyr,, Wag-wits nae mair can hae a liandie 

To mouth ' a Citizen,' a term o' scandal : 

Nae mair the Council waddles down the street, 

In all the pomp of ignorant conceit : 

Men wha grew wise priggin ower hops an' raisins. 

Or gather'd lib'ral views in Bonds and Seisins. 

If haply Knowledge, on a random tramp. 

Had slior'd them with a gli turner of his lamp. 

And would to Common-sense, for once helray'd them, 

Plain, dull Stupidity slept kindly in to aid them. 



What farther clishmaclaver might been said, 
What bloody wars, if sprites had blood to shed, 
No man can tell ; but all before their sight, 
A fairy train appear'd in order bright : 
Adown the glittering stream they featly danced ; 
Bright to the moon their various dresses glanced ; 
They footed o'er the wat'ry glass so neat. 
The infant ice scarce bent beneath their feet : 
While arts of minstrelsy among them rung, 
And soul-ennobling Bards heroic ditties sung. 
Ohad M''La\ighlan* thairm-inspiringsage, \ 

Been there to hear this heaveidy band engage, f 

When through liis dear Strathspeys they bore with Hig h- 1 
land rage ; « 

• A vnllhnoton performer of Scottish music on the violin. 



88 POEJ^ISy 

Or when they struck old Scotia's melting aire, 

The lover's raptiir'd joys or bleeding cares ; 

How would his Highland lug been nobler fir'd, 

And ev'n his matcJiless hand with finer touch inspir'd 

No guess could tell what instrument appear'd, 

But all the soul of Music's self was heard ; 

Harmonious concert rung in every part, 

While simple melody pour'd moving on the heart. 

The Genius of the Stream in front appears, 
A venerable chief advanc'd in years ; 
His hoary head with water-lilies crown'd, 
His manly leg with garter-tangle bound. 
Next came the loveliest pair in all the ring, 
Sweet female Heauty hand in hand with Spring ■ 
Then crown'd with flrWrr h.t., ca.,ie Rural Jo? 
And Summer, with his fervid-beaming eye ; 
All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing horn. 
Led yellow Autumn wreath'd with nodding corn ; 
Then Winter's time-bleach'd locks did hoary show 
By Hospitality with cloudless brow. 
Next foUow'd Courage with his martial stride, 
From where the Feal wild-woody coverts hide ; 
Benevolence, with mild, benignant air, 
A female form,* came from the tow 'rs of Stair; 
Learning and worth in equal measures trode 
From simple Catrine, tii'^ir long-lov'd abode ; 
Last, vvhite-rob'd Peace, crown'd with a hazel wreath, 
To rustic Agriculture did bequeath 
The broken iron instruments of Death ; 
At sight of whom our Sprites forgat their kindling wrath. 



THE VISION. 

DPAN FIRST.t 

The sun had cios'd the winter day. 
The curlers qual their roaring play, 

* The Poet here alludes to a Mrs. Stewart, who was then 
in possession of Stair. She afterwards removed to .^f ton- 
lodge on the banks of the Jlfton, a stream which she subse- 
quently celebrated in a song entitled, '■'■ Jifton Water.'" — Ed. 

t Duan, a term of Ossian's forthe different divisions of a 
digressive poem. See his Cathl'Oda.roZ. ii. of Macphersan's 
translation. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 87 

An' liunger'd rnaukin ta'en her way 

To kail-yards green, 
While faithless snaws ilk step betray 

Whare slie has been. 

The thrasher's weary Jiingin-tree 
The lee-lang day had tired ine ; 
And when the day had clos'd his e'e, 

Far i' the west, 
Ben i' the spence, right pensivelie, 

1 gaed to rest. 

There, lanely, by the ingle-cheek, . 
I sat and ey'd the spewing reek, 
TJiat fiJl'd, wi' hoast-provoking smeek, 

The auld clay biggin ; 
An' heard the restless rattons squeak 

About the riggin. 

All in this mottie, misty clime, 
I backward mus'd on wasted time, 
How I bad spent my youthfii' prime, 

An' done nae-thing, 
But stringin blethers up in rhyme, 

For fools to sing. 

Had I to guid advice but harkit, 
I might, by this, hae led a market, 
Or strutted in a baidcan' claikjt 

My cash account : 
While here, half mad, half fed, half sarkit, 

Is a' th' amount. 

i started, mutt' ring, blockhead : coof ! 
And heav'd on high my waukit loof, 
To swear by a' yon starry roof. 

Or some rai-h aith, 
That I henceforth would be a rhyme proof 
Till my last breath — 

When click ! the string the sneck did draw : 
And jee ! the door gaed to the wa' . 
An' by my ingle-lowe I saw, 

Now bleezin bright, 
A tight, outlandish Hizzie, braw, 

Come full in sight. 

Ye need nae doubt, T held my whisht ; 
The infant aith, half-form'd was crusht ; 
I glow'rd as eerie's I'd been duslit, 
In some wild glen ; 



eS POEMS, 

When sweet, like modest Worth, she blusht, 
And stepped ben. 

Green, slender, leaf-clad holly-boughs 
Were twioted, 51 acefu', round her brows , 
I took her for some Scottish muse, 

By that same token ; 
An' come to stop those reckless vows, 

Wou'il soon been broken. 

A " hair-brain'd sentimental trace," 
Was strongly marked in her face ; 
A wildly-witty, rustic grace 

Shone full upon her ; 
Her eye, ev'n turn'd on empty space, 

Beam'd keen with Honour. 

Down flow'd her robe, a Tartan sheen, 
Till half a leg was scrimply seen ; 
And such a leg ! my bonie Jean 

Could only peer it; 
Sae straught, sae taper, tight and clean, 

Nane else came near it. 

Her Mantle large, of greenish hue, 
My gazing wonder chiefly drew ; 
Deep lights and shades, bold-mingling, threw 

A lustre grand ; 
And seem'd, to my astonish'd view, 

A well known land. 

Here, rivers in the sea were lost ; 
I'here, mountains to the skies were tost; 
Here, tumbling billows mark'd the coast. 

With surging foam ; 
There distant shone Art's lofty boast, 

The lordly dome. 

Here Doon pour'd down his far-fetch'd floods, 
There, well-fed Irvine stately thuds ; 
Auld hermit ^yr staw thro' his woods, 

On to the shore ; 
And many a lesser torrent scuds. 

With seeming roar. 

Low, in a sandy valley spread. 
An ancient Borough rear'd her head ; 
Still, as in Scottish story read. 

She boasts a Race, 
To ev'ry nobler virtue bred, 

A<id polish'd grace. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 89 

By stately tow'r or palace fair, 
Or ruins pendant in the air, 
Bold stems of heroes, here and there, 

I could discern ; 
Some seem'd to muse, some seem'd to dare. 

With features stern. 

My heart did glowing transport feel, 
To see a Race* heroic wheel. 
And brandish round the deep-dy'd steel 

In sturdy blows ; 
While back-recoiling seem'd to reel 

Their Southron foes. 

His Country's Saviour,^ mark him well ; 
Bold Richardtov: sX heroic swell • 
The chief on Sark^ who glorious fell, 

In high command ; 
And He whom ruthless Fates expel 

His native land. 

There, where a sceptr'd Pictisk shade|| 
Stalk'd round its ashes lowly laid, 
I mark'd a martial race, portray'd 

In colours strong ; 
Bold, soldier-featur'd, undismay'd 
They strode along. 

Thro' many a wild romantic grove,TT 
Near many a hermit-fancy'd cove, 
(Fit haunts for Friendship or for Love) 

In musing mood, 
An aged Judge, I saw him rove, 

Dispensing good. 

* The Wallaces. t William Wallace. 

t Jidam. Wallace, of Richardton, cousin to the immortal 
vreserver of Scottish Independence. . 

^ Wallace, laird of Cragie, who was second in command, 
under Douslas, earl of Ormond, at the famous battle on the 
hanks of Sark, fought anno 1448. That glorious victory 
'xas principally owing to the judicious conduct and intrepid 
valour of the gallant laird of Cragie, who died of his wounds 
after the action. j- ^ • * x 

11 Coilus, king of the Picts, from whom the drstnet of 
Kvle is said to take its name, lies buried, as tradition sayg, 
near the family-seat of the Montgomeries of Coil s-field, 
^here his burial-place is still shown- , , , . ^_. 

IT Barskimming, the seat of the late Lord Justice Clerk. 
Vol. I. G 



fjO POEMS 

With deep-siruck reverential awe* 
The learned she and Son I saw, 
To Nature's God and Nature's law 

They gave their lore, 
This all its source and end to draw, 

That, to adore. 

Brydone's brave wardf I well could spy, 
Beneath old Scotia's snuling eye. 
Who call'd on Fame, low standing by 

To hand him on. 
Where many a Patriot-name on high. 

And hero shone. 



DUAN SECOND. 

With musing-deep, astonish'd stare, 
I viewed the heav'niy-sceming Fair; 
A whisp'ring throb did witness bear, 

Of kindred sweet, 
When, with an elder sister's air, 

She did me greet. 

All hail ! my own inspir'd Bard ! 
In me thy native muse regard ! 
Nor longer mourn thy fate is hard ! 

Thus poorly low I 
I come to give thee such reward 

As we bestow. 

" Know the great Genius of this land 
Has many a light aerial band, 
Who all beneath his high command, 

Harmoniously, 
As arts or arms they understand, 

Their labours ply. 

" They Scotia's race among them share ; 
Some fire the Soldier on to dare ; 
Some rouse the Patriot up to bare 

Corruption's heart ; 
Some teach the Bard, a darling care. 
The tuneful art. 

• Catrine^ the seat of the late doctor^ and present profettt 
Stewart. 
t Colonel Fullarton. 



CHIEFL Y SCO TTISH. 

♦» 'Mong swelling floods of reeking gore, 
They ardent, kindling spirits pour; 
Or, mid the venal senate roar, 

They, sightless, stand. 
To mend the honest Patriot-lore, 

And grace the land. 

«' And when the bard, or hoary Sage, 
Charm or instruct the future age, 
They bind the wild poetic rage 

In energy, 
Or point the inconclusive page 

Full on the eye. 

" Hence Fullarton, the brave and young ; 
Hence Dempster's zeal-inspired tongue ; 
Hence sweet harmonicus Beattie sung 

His ' Minstrel lays ;' 
Or tore, with noble ardour stung, 
The Sceptic's bays. 

«'To lower orders are assign'd 
The humbler ranks of human-kind. 
The rustic Bard, the lab' ring Hind, 

Tbe Artisan ; 
All ehoose, as vaiious they're inclm'd. 

The various man. 

«' When yellow waves the heavy grain. 
The threat'ning storm some strongly rein, 
Some teach to meliorate the plain 

With tillage-skill ; 
And some instruct the shepherd train 

Blithe o'er the hill. 

«' Some hint the lover's harmless wile ; 
Some grace the maiden's artless smile ; 
Some sooth the lab'rer's weary toU, 

For humble gains, 
And make his cottage-scenes beguile 

His cares and pains. 

" Some, bounded to a district-space. 
Explore at large man's infant race, 
To mark the embryotic trace 

Oi rustic Bard; 
And careful note each op'ning grace, 

A guide and guard. 

«« Of these am I—Coila my name ; 
And this district as mine I claim, 



92 POEMS. 

Where once the Campbells, chiefs of fame, 

Hold ruling pow'r: 
I marhL'd thy embryo tuneful flame, 

Thy nalal hour. 

" Witii future hope, I oft would gaze, 
Fond, on thy little early ways, 
Thy rudely caroll'd, chiming phrase, 

In uncouth rhymes, 
Fir'd at the simple artless lays 
Of other times. 

" I saw tliee seek the sounding shore, 
Delighted with the dashing roar; 
Or wlieu the North his fleecy store 

Drove thro' the sky, 
I saw grim Nature's visage iioar. 

Struck tliy young eye. 

" Or when the deep green-mantled earth 
Warmcherish'd ev'ry flow'ret's birth, 
And joy and nmsic pouring forth 

In ev'ry grove, 
I saw thee eye the gen'ral mirth 

With boundless love. 

" When ripen'd fields, and azure skies, 
Call'd forth the reapers' rustling noise, 
I saw thee leave their ev'ning joys, 

And lonely slalk, 
To v«ntthy bosom's swelling rise 

In pensive walk. 

" When youtliful love, warm-blushing strong 
Keen-shivering shot thy nerves along, 
Those accents, grateful to thy tongue, 

Th' adored JVame, 
I taught thee how to pour in song. 

To sooth thy flame. 

«• I saw thy pulses maddening play, 
Wild send thee pleasure's devious way, 
Misled by fancy's meteor ray. 

By passion driven ; 
But yet the light that led astray 

Was light from heaven. 

" I taught thy manners-painting strains. 
The loves, the ways of simple swains, 
Till now, o'er all ray wide domains 
Thy fame extends : 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 

And some, the pride of Collars plains, 
Become thy friends. 

"Thou canst not learn, nor can I show, 
To paint with Thom-pson's landscape glow , 
Or wake the bosom-moltina throe. 

With Skensione^s art, 
Or pour witli Gray, the moving flow 

Warm on the heart. 

" Yet ail beneath the unrivalled rose, 
The lowly daisy sweetly blows ; 
The' large the forest's monarch throws 

His army shade, 
Yet green the juicy hawthorn grows, 

Adown the glade. 

" Then never murmur nor repine ; 
Strive in thy humble sphere to shine; 
And trust me, not Potosi's mine. 

Nor king's regard, 
Can give a bliss o'ermatching thine, 

A rustic Bard. 

'• To give my counsels all in one. 
Thy tuneful flame still careful fan ; 
Preserve the Dignity of Man, 

With soul erect ; 
And trust, the Universal Plan 

Will all protect. 

" ^nd wear thou this /" — she solemn said, 
And bound the Holly round my head : 
The polish'd leaves, and berries red, 

Did rustling play ; 
And, like a passing thought, she fled 

In light away. 



THE COTTER'S SATURDAY ^TIOHT. 

INSCRIBED TO R. A****, ESQ. 

Let not ambition mock their useful (oil, 
Their homely joijs, and destiny obscure ; 

Jfor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile. 
The short, but simple annals of the poor GraT 



94 POEMS, 

I. 

My V)v'd, my lionouiM, much respected friend ! 

No mercenary Bard his homage pays ; 
With honest pride, I scorn each selfish end, 

My dearest meed, a friend's esteem and praise; 
T'o you I sing, in simple Scottish lays. 

The lowly train in life's sequcster'd scene; 
The nativefeelings strong, the guileless ways; 

What A**** in a cottage would have been ; 
Ah : tho' bis worth unknown, far happier there, I ween. 

II. 

iVovember chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh , 

The sliort'ning winter-day is near a close; 
The miry beasts retreating frac the pleugh ; 

The black'ning trains o' craws to their repose; 
Tlie toil-worn Cotter frae his labour goes, 

This vitrht his weekly moil is at an end, 
Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes, 

Hoping the mom in ease and rest to spend, 
And weary o'er the moor liis course docs homeward ben 

III 
At length his lonely cot appears in view. 

Beneath the shelter of an aged tree; 
Th' expectant wee-thiugs^ toddlin, stacher thro' 

To meet their Dad, wi' flichter in noise an' glee. 
His wee bit ingle, blinkln bonily. 

His clean hearth-stane, his thriftie wifie's smile. 
The lisping infant prattling on his knee. 

Does a' his weary carking cares beguile, 
An' makes him quite forget his labour and his toil. 

IV. 
Belyve the elder bairns come drappin in, 

At service out, amang the farmers roun' ; 
Some ca' tlie pleugh, some herd, some tentie rin 

A cannie errand to a neebor town ; 
Their eldest hope, their Jnnnj, woman grown, 

In youthfu' bloom, love sparkling in her e'e, 
Comes hame, perhaps, to show a braw new gown, 

Or deposite her sair-won penny-fee. 
To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be. 

V. 

VVi' joy unfeign'd brothers and sisters meet. 
An' each for other's welfare kindly spiers ; 

The social hours, swifi-wing'd, unnoticed fleet; 
Each tells the uncos that he sees or hears ; 



CHIEFL Y SCO TTISH. 93 

The parents, partial, eye their hopeful j'cars ; 

Anticipation forward points the view, 
The mother wi' her needle an' her sheers, 

Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new ; 
The Father, mixes a' wi' admonition due. 

VI. 
Their master's an' their mistress's command, 

The younlcers a' are warned to obey ; 
" An' mind their labours wi' an eydent hand, 

An' ne'er, tlio' out o' sight, to jauk or play : 
An* O ! be sure to fear the Lord alway I 

An' mind your duty, duly, morn an' night ! 
Lest in temptation's path ye gang astray. 

Implore his counsel and assisting might: 
They never sought in vain, that sought the Lord ariglitl" 

vn. 

But hark ! a rap comes gently to tlie door ; 

Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same, 
Tells how a neebor lad came o'er the moor, 

To do some errands, and convoy her hame 
The wily mother sees the conscious flame 

Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flush her cheek ; 
With heart-struck anxious care, inquires his name, 

While Jenny hufflins is afraid to speak ; 
Weel pleas'd the mother hears, it's nae wild, worthless rake 

VIIL 
Wi' kindly welcome Jenny brings him ben; 

A Btrappan youth ; he takes the mother's eye , 
Blithe Jenny sees the visit's no ill ta'en ; 

The father cracks of horses, pleughs, and kye. 
The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy. 

But blate an' laithfu', scarce can weel behave ; 
Tlie mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy 

What makes the youth sae bashfu' an' sae grave ; 
Weel pleas'd to think her bairn's respected like the lave. 

IX. 
O happy love ! where love like this is found ; 

O heart-felt raptures I bliss beyond compare! 
I've paced much this weary, mortal round, 

And sage experience bids me this declare — 
" If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare, 

One cordial in this melancholy vale, 
•Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair. 

In other's arms breathe out the tender tale, 
Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the ev'ning gale. 



90 POEMS, 

X. 

[s there, in human form, that bears a heart— 

A wretch '. a villain! lost to love and truth ! 
That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring art. 

Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth 1 
Curse on his perjur'd arts! dissembling smooth! 

Are honour, virtue, conscience, all exil'd 1 
Is there no pity, no relenting ruth, 

Points to the parents fondling o'er their child 1 
Then paints the ruin'd maid, and their distraction wild ! 

XI. 

But now the supper crowns their simple board ! 

The halesome parrilch, chief o' Scotia's food; 
The soup their only liawkie does afford, 

That 'yont the hallan snugly chows her cud: 
The dame brings forth in complimental mood. 

To grace tlie lad, her weet-hain'd kolibuck fell, 
An' aft he's prcss'd, an' aft he ca's it good ; 

The frugal wifie garrulous will tell, 
How 'thas a towmond auld, sin' lint was i' the bell. 

XIT. 
The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face, 

They, round the ingle, form a circle w^ide ; 
The sire turns o'er, wi' patriarchal grace, 

The big Ha'-BibU, ance Iiis father's pride; 
His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside. 

His lyart hafllMs wearin thin an' bare ; 
Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide, 

He wales a portion with judicious care ; 
And " Let us worship God!" he says with solemn air. 

XIII. 
They chant their artless notes in simple guise , 

They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim ; 
Perhaps Dundee's wild warbling measure's rise, 

Or plaintive Martyrs, worthy of the name ; 
Or noble El sin beats the heav'nward flame, 

The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays : 
Compar'd with these, Italian trills are tame ; 

The tickled ears no heart-felt raptures raise, 
Nae unison hae they with our Creator's praise. 

XIV. 
The priest-like father reads the sacred page. 

How Mr am was \.he friend of God on high ; 
Or, Moses bade eternal warfare wage 

With Amalek'3 ungracious progeny ; 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 97 

Or, Jiow the royal Bard did croaning He 
Beneath the stroke of Heaven's avenging ire ; 

Or, Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing cry; 
Or, rapt Isaiah'' s wild seraphic fire ; 

Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre. 

XV. 

Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme, 

How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed ; 
How He^ who bore in heav'n the second name, 

Had not on earth whereon to lay his head : 
How His first followers and servants sped ; 

The precepts sage they wrote to many a land: 
How he, who lone in Pa'tmos banished, 

Saw in the sun amishty an^el stand; 
And heard great Babylon's doom pronounced by Heavcn'8 

command. 

XVI. 

Then kneeling dov/n, to heaven's eternal King, 

The saivt, the father, and the hvshavd prays: 
Hope "springs exultiii<; on triumphant wins,"* 

That thus they all shall meet in future days : 
There, ever bask in uncreated rr.ys, 

No more to sij:h, or shed the bitter tear, 
Together hymning their Creator's praise, 

Tn such society, yet still more dear ; 
While circling time moves round in an eternal spncre 

xvn. 

Compar'd with this, how poor Religion's pride. 

In all the pomp of method, and of art, 
When men display to congregations wide. 

Devotion's ev'ry grace except the heart ! 
Tlie Pow'r incens'd, the pageant will desert. 

The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole ; 
Cut haply, in some cottage far apart, 

May hear, well pleas'd, the language of the soul 
And in his hook of life lire inmates poor enrol. 

xvni. 

Then homeward all take off their sev'ral way ; 

The youngling cottagers retire to rest ; 
The parent-pair their secret homafre pay. 

And proffer up to Heaven the warm request, 
That He who stills the raven's clam'rous neet, 



* Pope's Windsor Forest. 



96 POEMS, 

And decks th" liJy fair in flow'ry pride, 
Would, in the way liis wisdom sees the best, 

For them and for their hltle ones provide, 
But chiefly in their hearts with grace divine preside. 

XIX. 

Prom scenes hke these old Scotia's grandeur springs, 

That makes her lov'd at home, rever'd abroad ; 
Princes and lords are but the breath of kings, 

" An honest man's the noblest work of God ;" 
And ccrtes in fair virtue's heav'nly road, 

The collage leaves the palace far beliind ; 
What is a lordling's pomp? a cumbrous load, 

Disguising of the wretch of human-kind, 
Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refin'd I 

XX. 

O Scotia ! my dear, my native soil ! 

For whom my warmest wish to heaven is sent. 
Long may the hardy sons of rustic toil, 

Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content? 
And, O! may heaven their simple lives prevent 

From luxury's contagion, weak and vile ! 
Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent, 

A virtuous populr'ce may rise the while, 
And stand a wall of fire around their much lov'd Tslc. 

XXI. 

O Thou.' who ponr'd tlie patriotic tide 

That stream'd thro' IVallace's undaunted heart ; 
Who dared to nobly stem tyrannic pride. 

Or nobly die, the second glorious part, 
(The patriot's God, peculiarly thou art, 

His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward .') 
O never, never Scotia's r<?alui desert ; 

But still the patriot and the patriot bard. 
In bright succession rise, In-r ornament and guard I 



VERSES 

WRITTEN IN FRIAR'sCARSE IlERMITAOK, ON NITH-8IDK 

Tnou whom chance ntay hillier lead, 
Be thou cl.id in russet weed, 
15e thon decked in silken stole. 
Grave Uiese counsels on thy soul — 



LofC. 




?3!HUUDE3 ®F E'^VTKMIITG, 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 

Life is but a day at most, 
Sprung from iiiglit, in darkness lost ; 
Hope not sunshine cv'ry hour, 
Fear not clouds will always iow'r. 

As youth and love, with sprightly dance, 
P.eneatli thy morning star advance, 
Pleasure witii her siren air 
May delude the thoughtless pair ; 
Let prudence bless enjoyment's cup, 
Then raptur'd sip, and sip it up. 

As thy day grows warm and high, 
Life's meridian f.aniing nigh, 
Dosi tliou spurn the humble vale ? 
Life's proud summits wouldst thou scale ? 
Check tliy climbing step, elate, 
Evils lurk in felon wait ; 
Dangers, ea<rle-pinion'd, bold, 
Soar around each cliffy liold, 
While checnful peace, with linnet song, 
Chants the lowly dells among. 

As the shades of evening close, 
F.eck'ning thee to long repose ; 
As life itself Ijecomes disease. 
Seek tlie chimney-neuk of ease •, 
There ruminate with sober tliought, 
ein all thou'st seen, and heard, and wrought i 
And teach the sportive younkers round, 
Laws of experience, sage and sound. 
Say, Man's true, genuine, estimate, 
The grand criterion of his fate. 
Is not, art thou high or low? 
Did thy fortune ebb or flow 1 
Did many talents gild tlie span? 
Or frugal nature grudge thee one? 
Tell them, and i)ress it on their mind, 
As thou thyself must shortly find. 
The smile or frown of awful heav'n, 
To virtue or to vice is giv'n. 
Say, to be just, and kind, and wise, 
Tliere solid self-enjoyment lies ; 
Tlial foolish, selfish, faithless ways. 
Lead to the wretclied, vile, and base. 

Thus resign'd and quiet, creep 
To tlie bod of lasting sleep ; 
Sleep, wlKince thou shalt ne'er awake, 
lyioi,. ..rije^o da-rn :;}irJ! never break, 



too POEMS^ 

Till future life, future no more, 
To light and joy the good restore, 
To light and joy unknown before 



Stranger, go ! Heav' n be thy guide ! 
Quod the Beadsman of Nilhside. 



Jl PRAYER, 

UNDER THE PRESSURE OF VIOLENT ANOmSH 

O THOU great Being ! what thou art 

Surpasses me to know ; 
Yet sure I am, that known to Thee 

Are all thy works below. 

Thy creature here before Thee stands, 

All wretched and distrest ; 
Yet sure those ills that \VTing my soul 

Obey thy high behest. 

Sure Thou, Almighty, canst not act 

From cruelty or wrath ! 
O, free my weary eyes from tears, 

Or, close them fast in death ! 

But if I must afflicted be, 

To suit some wise design ; 
Then man my soul with firm resolves 

To bear and not repine ! 



A PRAYER, 

IN THE PROSPKCT OF DEATH. 
I. 

O THOTT, unknown. Almighty Cause 

Of all my hope and fear ! 
In whose dread presence, ere an hoar, 

Perhaps I must appear ! 
II. 
If T have wander"d in those paths 

Of life I ought to shun ; 
As something, loudly in my breast, 

Hemonstrates I have done ; 



CHIEFL Y SCO TTISH. 101 

III. 
Thou know'st that Thou liast formed me 

With passions wild and strong ; 
And Ust'ning to their witching voice 
Has often led me wrong. 

IV. 

Where humai^ weakness has cotue short. 

Or frailtij stopt aside. 
Do Thou, All-good! for such Thou art, 

In shades of darkness liide. 
V 
Where witii intention I have err'd, 

No otlier plea I have, 
But, Tkou art good; and goodness still 

Delifliteth to forgive. 



sta;n'zas 

ON THE SAME OCCASION 
I. 

Why am I loath to leave this earthly scene ? 

Have I so found it full of pleasing charms 1 
Some drops of joy with draughts of ill between; 

Some gleams of sunsliiiie mid renewing storms ; 
Is it departing pangs my soul alarms ? 

Or death's unlovely, dreary, darlt abode ? 
For guilt, for guilt, my tenors are in arras ; 

I tremble to approach an angry God, 
And justly smart beneadi liis sin-avenging rod. 

II. 
Fain would I saj', " Forgive my foul oflence I" 

Fain promise never more to disobey : 
But, should my Author health again dispense, 

Again I niiglit desert fair virtue's way : 
Again in folly's path might go astray ; 

Again exalt the brute and sink the man ; 
Then how should I for Jieavenly mercy pray, 

Who act so counter heavenly mercy's plan 1 
Who sin so oft have mourn'd, yet to temptation lan 1 

III. 
O Tliou, great Governor of all below 

If I may dare a lifted eye to Thee 



102 POEMS, 

Thy nod can make the tempest cease to blow, 
Or still the tumult of the raging sea; 

With that controlling pow'r assist ev'n me, 
Those headlong, furious passions to confine ; 

For all unfit I feel my powers to be, 
To rule their torrent in th' allowed line ; 

O, aid me with thy help, Omnipotence Divine! 



VERSES, 

LEFT BY THE AUTHOR, AT A REVEREND PRIEITD'S H0V8B, 
IN THE ROOM WHERE HE SLEPT. 



O THOU, dread Pow'r, who reign' st above ; 

I know thou wilt me hear : 
When for this scene of peace and love, 

I make my pray'r sincere. 
II. 
The hoary sire — the mortal stroke, 

Long, long, be pleas'd to spare ! 
To bless his little filial flock, 

And show what good men are. 
III. 
She, who her lovely offspring eyes 

With tender hopes and fears, 
O bless her with a mother's joys, 

But spare a mother's tears ! 
IV. 
Their hope, their stay, their darling youth ; 

In manhood's dawning blush ; 
Bless him, thou God of love and truth, 

Up to a parent's wish 1 
V. 
The beauteous, seraph sister-band, 

With earnest tears I pray, 
Thou knowest the snares on ev'ry band, 

Guide Thou their steps alway ! 
VI. 
When soon or late they reach thai coast. 

O'er life's rough ocean driv'n, 
May they rejoice, no wand'rer lost, 

A family in heav'n 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 103 

A GRACE BEFORE DINNER. 
O THOU, who kindly dost provide 

For every creature' s want ! 
We bless thee, God of Nature wide. 

For all thy goodness lent; 

And if it please thee, heavenly Guide, 

May never worse be sent ; 
But whether granted or denied, 

Lord bless us with content ! 
Amen. 



THE FIRST PSALM. 

Thk man in life, wherever placed, 

Hath happiness in store, 
Who walks not in the wicked's way> 

Nor learns their guilty lore ! 

Nor from the seat of scornful pride 
Casts forth his eyes abroad, 

But with humility an.' awe 
Still walks before his God. 

That man shall flourish like the trees 
Which by the streamlets grow ; 

The fruitful top is spread on high, 
And firm the root below. 

But he whose blossom buds in guilt, 
Shall to the ground be cast. 

And like the rootless stubble, tost 
Before the sweeping blast. 

For why 1 That God, the good adore, 
Hath giv'n them peace and rest, 

But hath decreed that wicked men 
Shall ne'er be truly blest. 



THE FIRST SIX VERSES OF THE J^IJfETIETH 

PSALM 

O THOTJ, the first, the greatest Friend 

Of all the human race ! 
Whose strong right hand has ever been 

Their stay and dwelling place ! 



104 POEJIIS 

Before the mountains heav'd mm heada 

Beneath thy forming hand, 
Before this ponderous globe itself 

Arose at thy command ; 

That Pow'r which rais'd and still upholds 

Tliis universal frame, 
From countless, unbeginning time, 

Was ever still the same. 

Those mighty periods of years 

Which seem to us so vast, 
Appear no more before thy sight 

Than yesterday that's peist. 

Thou giv'st the word— Thy creature, man, 

Is to existence brought ; 
Again thou sayest, " Ye sons of men, 

Return ye into nought!" 

Thou layest them, with all their cares, 

In everlasting sleep ; 
As with a flood Thou tak'st them off 

With overwhelming sweep. 

They flourish like the morning flow'r. 

In beauty's pride array' d ; 
But long ere night, cut down, it lies 

All wither'd and decay'd. 



EPISTLE TO Ji YOUNQ FRIEKD. 
I. 
I LANG hae thought, my youthfu' friend, 

A something to have sent you, 
Tho' it should serve no other end 

Than just a kind memento; 
But how the subject-theme may gang. 

Let time and chance determine ; 
Perhaps it may turn out a sang, 

Perhaps turn out a sermon. 
II. 
Ye'll try the world soon, my lad. 

And Jindrew dear, believe me, 
Ye'll find mankind an unco squad. 

And muckle they may grieve ye ! 
For care and trouble set your tliought, 

Ev'n when your end's attauied ; 



CHIEFL Y SCO TTISH. 103 

And a' your views may come to nought, 
When ev'ry nerve is strained. 

III. 
ril no say men are villains a' ; 

The real, liarden'd wicked, 
Wha hae nae ciicck but human law, 

Are to a few rcstricked — 
But och ! mankind are unco weak, 

An' little to be trusted ; 
If seZ/the wavering balance shake 

It's rarely right adjusted ! 

IV. 

Yet they wha fa' in fortune's strife, 

Their fate we should na censure, 
For still th' important end of Ufe, 

They equally may answer ; 
A man mav hae an honest heart, 

Tho' poo'rtiih hourly stare him ; 
A man mav lak a neebor's part, 

Yet hae iia cash to spare him. 



Ay free, affhan', your etory tell. 

When wi' a bosom crony ; 
But still keep something to yoursel, 

Ye'U scarcely tell to ony. 
Conceal yoursel as weel's ye can, 

Frae critical dissection ; 
But keek thro' ev'ry other man, 

Wi' sharpen'd sly inspection. 

VI. 

The sacred lowe o' weel-placed love^ 

Luxuriantly indulge it ; 
But never tempt th' illicit rove, 

Tho' naething should divulge it ; 
1 waive the quantum o' the sin, 

The hazard o' concealing ; 

But och ! it hardens a' within, 

And petrifies the feeling I 

VII. 
To catch dame Fortune's golden BmHe, 

Assiduous wait upon her ; 
And gather gear by ev'ry wile 
That's justified by honour- 
VOL. I. H 



6 POEMS. 

Not for to hide it in a hedge, 

Nor for a train-attendant. 
But for the giorious iirivilego 

Of being independent. 

VIII. 
The fear o' hell's a hangman's wliip 

To hand the wretch in or(Jer — 
But wliere ye feel your honour grip. 

Let that ay be your border ; 
It's slis^htest touches, instant pause — 

Debar a' side pretences ; 
And resolutely keep its laws, 

Uncaring consequences. 

IX. 

The great Creator to revere, 

Must sure become il'.e creature; 
But still the preacliins; caul forbear, 

And ev'n the rigid feature ; 
Yet ne'er with wits profane to rangft, 

Be complaisance extended ; 
An atheist's laugli's a poor exchange 

For Deity ofiended ! 

X. 
When ranting round in pleasure's ring. 

Religion may be blinded ; 
Or, if she gie a random sinsr^ 

It may be iittle minded ; 
But when on life we're tempest driv'n, 

A conscience but a canker — 
A correspondence fix'd wi' Ileav'n, 

Is sure a nobler anchor ! 

XL 

Adieu, dear, amiable youth ! 

Your heart can ne'er be wanting ; 
May prudence, fortitude, and truth, 

Erect your brow undaunting! 
In ploughman phrase, "Gad send you speed/ 

Still daily to grow wiser ; 
And may you better reck the rede 

Than ever did th' adviser ! 

Maaf, 178G. 



B^oM./I, 



Book II. 

PATHETIC, ELEGIAC, AND DESCRIPTIVE 
MAir WAS MADE TO MCURJ\r 

A DIRGE. 
I, 

Whkn chill November's surly blast 

Made fields and forests bare, 
One ev'ning, as I wandcr'd forth 

Along the banks of Ayr, 
I spy'd a man, whoso aged step 

Seem'd weary, worn with care ; 
His face was furrow'd o'er with years, 

And hoary was his Iiair. 
II. 
Young stranger, whither wand'resl thou? 

(Began the rev'rend sage ;) 
Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain, 

Or youthful pleasure's rage 1 
Or haply, prest with cares and woes. 

Too soon thou hast began 
To wander forth, with me, to mourn 

The miseries of man ! 

IIL 
The sun that overhangs yon moors. 

Out-spreading far and wide, 
Where hundreds labour to support 

A haughty lordling's pride ; 
I've seen yon weary winter sun 

Twice forty times return ; 
And ev'ry time has added proofs, 

That man was made to mourn. 

IV. 



O man ! while in thy early years, 

How prodigal of tim?! 
Mispending all thy precious hours, 

Thy glorious youthful prime '. 



108 POEJilS, 

Alternate follies take the s\vay ; 

Licentious passions burn ; 
Which tenfold force gives Nature's law 

That man was made to mourn. 

V. 

Look not alone on youthful prime 

Or manhood's active might ; 
Man then is useful to his kind, 

Supported in his right ; 
But see him on the edge of life, 

With cares and sorrows worn, 
Then age and want, oh ! ill matched pair ! 

Show man was made to mourn. 
VI. 
A few seem favourites of Fate, 

In Pleasure's lap carest ; 
Yet, think not all the ricli and great 

Are likewise truly blest. 
But oh ! what crowds in every land, 

Are wretched and forlorn ; 
Thro' weary life this lesson learn, 

That man was made to mourn. 

vir. 

Many and sharp the num'rous ilia 

Inwoven with our frame ! 
More pointed still we make ourselves 

Regret, remorse, and shame ! 
And man, whose heav'n-erected face 

The smiles of love adorn, 
Man's inhumanity to man 

Makes countless thousands mourn. 
VIIL 
See yonder poor, o'erlabour'd wight. 

So abject, mean and vile, 
Who begs a brother of the earth, 

To give him leave to toil ; 
And see his lordly fellow-worm 

The poor petition spurn, 
Unmindful, tho' a weeping wife 

And helpless offspring mouni. 

IX. 

If I'm deslgn'd yon lordling's slave — 

By Nature's law design'd ; 
Why was an independent wish 

E'er planted in my mind 1 



■J 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 

If not, why am I subject to 

His cruelty, or scorn ? 
Or why has man the will and pow'r 

To make his fellow mourn ? 

X. 

Yet, let not this too much, my son 

Disturb thy youthful breast; 
This partial view of human kind 

Is surely not the last! 
The poor, oppressed, honest man. 

Had never, sure, been born, 
Had there not been some recompense 

To comfort those that mourn. 

XI. 
O death ! the poor man's dearest friend 1 

Tiie kindest an« the best I 
Welcome the hour my aged limbs 

Are laid with thee at rest ; 
The great, the wealthy, fear thy blow, 

From pomp and pleasure torn ; 
But, oh — a blest relief to those 

That weary-laden mourn ! 



A WINTER NIGHT. 

Poor naked wretches, -wheresoever you are, 
That bide the peltin/r of this pitiless storm ! 
How shall your houseless heads, and unfed sides, 
Your loop'd and windowed raggedness, defend you 
From seasons such as these ! — Suaksfeaab. 

When biting Boreas fell and doure. 
Sharp shivers thro' the leafless bow'r ; 
When Phabus gies a short-liv'd glow'r 

Far south the lift, 
DIm-dark'ning thro' tJ^ie flaky show'r, 

Or whirlin drift ! 

Ae night the storm the steeples rock'd, 
P.»or Labour sweet in sleep was locked, 
While bums, wi' snawy wreaths up-chocked, 

Wfld-eddying swirl, 
Or thro' Ihc mining outlet bocked, 

Down headlong burl. 



110 POEMS 

List'ning, the doors an' winnocks rattle, 
I thought me on the ourie cattle, 
Or silly sheep, wha bide this brattle 

O' winter war. 
And thro' the drift, deep-lairing sprattle, 

Beneath a scar. 
Ilk happing bird, wee helpless thing, 
That, in the merry months o' spring, 
Delighted me to hear thee sing, 

Wliat cnmes o' thee ? 
Where wilt thou cow'r thy cliitt'ring wing, 

An' close thy e'el 
Ev'n you on murd'nng errands toil'd, 
Lone, from your savage homes exil'd. 
The blood-stained roost, and sheep-cote ppoU'd, 

My heart forgets, 
While pitiless the tempest wild. 

Sore on you beats. 
Now PhcBbe, in her midnight reign, 
Dark muffled, vicw'd the dreary plain, 
Still crowding thoughts, a pensive train, 

Rose in my soul. 
When on my ear this plaintive strain, 

Slow, solemn, stole — 
'* Blow, blow, ye winds, with heavier gust ! 
And freeze, thou bitter-biting frost ! 
Descend, ye chilly, smothering snows I 
Not all your rage, as now united, show 
More hard unkindness, unrelenting, 
Vengeful malice, iinrepenting. 
Than heaven-illumin'd man on brother man bestowi ! 

•• See stern oppression's iron grip. 

Or mad Ambition's gory hand, 
Sending, like blood-hounds from the slip, 

Wo, want, and murder o'er a land . 

"Ev'n in the peaceful rural vale, 
Truth, weeping, tells the mournful tale, 
How pamper'd luxury, flatt'ry by her side, 

The parasite empoisoning her ear. 

With all the servile wrote hos, in the rear, 
Look o'er proud property extended wide, 

And eyes the simple rustic hind, 
Whose toil upholds the glitt'riug show, 

A creature of another kind. 

Some coarser substance, unrefm'd, 
Plae'd for her lordly use tluia far, ilius vile, 



CHIEFL Y SCO TTISH. lH 

•« Where, where is love's fond, tender throe, 
With lordly honour's lofty brow, 
The pow'rs you proudly o\vn ? 
Is there, beneath love's noble name, * 

Can harbour, dark, the selfish aim, 

To bless himself alone 1 
" Mark maiden-innocence a prey 

To love pretending snares, 
Tills boasted honour turns away, 
Shunning soft pity's rising sway, 
Regardless of the tears, and unavailing prayers ! 
Perhaps, this hour, in mis'ry's squalid nest, 
She strains your infant to her joyless breast, 
And with a mother's fears shrieks at the rocking blast ! 
" O ye! who, sunk in beds of down. 
Feel not a want but what yourselves create, 
Think for a moment on his wretched fate. 
Whom friends and fortune quite disown I 
111 satisfied keen nature's clam'rous call, 
Stretclied on his straw, he lays himself to sleep, 
While thro' the ragged roof and chiirky wall, 
Chill o'er his slumbers piles the drifty heap !— 
Think on the dungeon's grim confine. 
Where guilt and poor misfortune pine ! 
Guilt, erring man, relenting view ! 
But shall thy legal rage pursue 
The wretch already crushed low 
By cruel fortune's undeserved blow ! 
Affliction's sons are brothers in distress, 
A brother to relieve, how exquisite the bliss !" 
I heard nae mair, for Chanticleer 

Shook ofi'the pouthery snaw. 
And hail'd the morning with a cheer, 

A cottage rousing craw. 
But deep this truth impress'd my mind- 
Thro' all his works abroad, 
The heart, benevolent and kind, 
The most resembles GOD. 



N 



WIJ^TER. 

A DIRGE. 
I. 

Thr wintry west extends his blast. 
And hail and rain does blaw ; 

Or, The stormy north sends driving forth 
Tlie blinding sleet and snaw : 



119 POEMS, 

While tumbling brown, the bum comes down, 

And roars frae bank to brae ; 
And bird and beast in covert rest, 

And pass tlie heartless day. 

II. 

♦' The sweephig blast, the sky o'erca-st,"* 

The joyless wintor-day, 
Let others fear, to nie more dear 

Than all the pride of May ! 
The tempest's howl, it soothes my soul, 

My griefs it seems to join, 
The leafless trees my fancy please. 

Their fate resembles mine ! 

III. 
Thou Pow'r Supreme, whose mighty scheme 

These woes of mine fulfil, 
Here, firm, I rest, they must be best. 

Because they are thy will ! 
Then all I want (O do thou grant 

This one request of mine !) 
Since to enjoy tliou dost deny, 

Assist me to resign. 



DESPOJ\ri>EJ\rCY, 

AN ODE. 

Opprkss'd with grief, oppress'd with care, 
A burden more than I can bear, 

I sit me down and sigh ; 
O life, thou art a gallintr l.md, 
A long, a rough, a weary road. 
To wretches such as 1 ! 
Dim backward as 1 cast my view, 
What sick'ning scene? ripi ear! 
What sorrows yet may pierce me thro', 
Too justly I may fear! 
Still caring, despairinjr, 

Must be my bitter doom ; 
My woes here shall close ne'er, 
But with the closing tomb ! 

* Dr. YiAing. 



CHIEFL T SCO TTISH. i C 

n. 

Happy, ye sons of busy life, 
Who, equal to Ihe bustling strife, 

No other view regard ! 
Ev'n when the wished end's deny'd, 
Yet while the busy means are ply'd. 

They bring their own reward : 
Whilst I, a hope-abandon'd wight, 

Unfitted with an aim, 
Meet ev'ry sad returning night, 
And joyless mourn the same, 
You, bustling, and justling 

Forget each grief and pain; 
I, listless, yet restless, 
Find every prospect vain, 

III. 

How blest tlie Solitary'' s lot, 
Who, all forgettinfr, all-forgot, 

Within his humble cell. 
The cavern wild with tangling roots, 
Sits o'er hia newly-gather'd fruits, 

Beside his crystal well ! 
Or, haply to his ev'ning thought, 

By unfrequented stream. 
The ways of men are distant brought, 
A faint collected dream ; 
While praising, and raising 
His thoughts to heav'n on high, 
As wand'ring, meand'ring, 
He views the solemn sky. 

IV. 

Then I, no lonely hermit plac'd 
Where never human footstep trac'd, 

Less fit to play the part ; 
The lucky moment to improve, 
hnAjust to stop and jws« to move. 

With self-respecting art : 
But ah ! those pleasures, loves and joya, 

Which I too keenly taste, 
The Solitary can despise, 
Can want, and yet be blest ! 

He needs not, he heeds not, 
Or human love or hate, 

Whilst I here, must cry heie< 
At perfidy Lograte! 



114 POEMS, 

V. 

Oh ! enviable, early days, 

When dancing Uioughtless pleasure's maze. 

To care, to guilt unknown ! 
How ill exchang'd for riper times, 
To feel the follies, or the crimes, 

Of others, or my own ! 
Ye tiny elves that guiltless sport, 

I Like linnets in the bush, 
Ye little know the ills ye court, 
When manhood is your wish ! 
The losses, the crosses, 

That active man engage ! 
The fears all, the tears all, 
The dim declining age ! 



TO RUIK. 
I. 

All hail ! inexorable lord ! 

At whose destruction-breathing word 

The mightiest empires fall ! 
Thy cruel, wo-delighted train. 
The ministers of grief and pain, 

A sullen welcome, all ! 
With stern, resolv'd, despairing eye, 

I see each aimed dart ; 
For one has cut my dearest tie, 
And quivers in my heart. 
Then low' ring and pouring, 

The storm no more I dread ; 
Tho' ihick'ning and black'ning 
Round my devoted head. 

n. 

And thou, grim pow'r, by life abhorr'd, 
While life a pleasure can afford, 

Oh ! hear a wretch's pray'r ! 
No more I shrink appall'd, afraid, 
I court, I beg thy friendly aid, 

To close this scene of care ! 
When shall my soul, in silent peace. 

Resign \\fe''s joyless day : 
My weary heart its throbbinga cease, 

Cold mould' ring in the clay ? 



CHJEFL Y SCOT TISH. 114 

No fear more, no tear more. 
To strain my lifeless face ; 
Enclasped, and grasped 
Within tliv cold embrace ! 



LAMEJfT OF MARY, qUEEJT OF SCOTS 

ON THE APPROACU OF SPRING. 

Now Nature hangs her mantle green 

On every blooming tree, 
And spreads lier sheets o' daisies white 

Out o'er the grassy lea: 
Now Phcebus cheers the crystal sti earns, 

And glads the azure skies ; 
But iiongiit can glad the weary wiglit 

That fast in duiance lies. 

Now lav'rocks wake the merry morn, 

Aloft on dewy wing ; 
The merle, in his noontide bow'r, 

Makes woodland eclmes ring ; 
The mavis mild, wi' many a note, 

Sings drowsy day to rest: 
In love and freedom they rejoice, 

Wi' care n(jr thrall opprest. 

Now blooms the lily by the bank, 

Tiie primrose down the brae ; 
The hawthorn's budding in tlie glen, 

And milk-wiiite is tiie slae ; 
The meanest hind in fair Scotland 

May rove the sweets amang ; 
But I, the Queen of a" Scotland, 

Maun lie in prison Strang. 

I was the Queen o' bonie France, 

Where happy I hae been ; 
Fu' lightly raise I in the morn. 

As blithe lay down at e'en: 
And I'm the Sov'reign of Scotland 

And monie a traitor there ; 
Yet here 1 lie in foreign bands, 

And never ending care. 

But as for thee, thou false woman, 

My sister and my fae. 
Grim Venireance, yet, shall whet a sword 

That Uuo' thy soul shall gae : 



116 POEMS, 

The weeping blood in woman's breast 

Was never known to thee ; 
Nor th' balm that draps on wounds of WO 

Frae woman's pitying e'e. 

My son ! my son ! may kinder stars 

Upon thy fortune shine ; 
And may those pleasures gild thy leign. 

That ne'er wad blink on mine ! 
God keep thee frae thy mother's faes, 

Or turn their hearts to thee ; 
And where thou meet'st thy mother's friend, 

Remember him for me ! 

O ! soon, to me, may summer-suns 

Nae mair light up tlie morn ! 
Nae mair, to me, the autumn winds 

Wave o'er the yellow coru ! 
And in the narrow house o' death 

Let winter round me rave! 
And the next flowers that deck the spring, 

Bloom on my peaceful grave! 



THE L.^MEJfT, 

CCA.SIONED BY THE UNFORTITNATK ISSUE OP A rSIXNI)*! 

AMOUR. 

Mas! how oft does Goodness wound tiatlf 
And sweet Affection prowe the spring oftoa 

liOMI. 

I. 

TH0T7 pale orb, that silent shmes 
While care-untroubled mortals sfeep 

Thou seest a wretch that inly pines, 
And wanders here to wail and weep 

With wo I nightly vigils keep. 
Beneath thy wan unwarming beam ; 

And mourn in lamentation deep, 
How life and love are all a dream. 

II 

1 joyless view tny rays adoin 
The faintly-marked distant hiil : 

I Joyless view thy uembliug horn, 
Reflected in the gurgling rill : 



CHJEFL Y SCO 7'TISJI. 117 

My fonilly-fluttorin? heart, he still ! 

Thou busy pow'r, Remembrance, ceoee 
Ah ! must the ajroiiiz.ing tlirill 

For ever bar returning peace! 

fll. 

No idly-feign'd pnctic pain?, 

My sari love-lorn lanienriiigs claim ; 
No shepherd's pijie— Arcadian strains ; 

No fabled tortures, (piaint and lame ; 
The plighted failli— the mutual llaine— 

Tlie oft attested Pow'rs above ; 
The proiids'd Father'' s tevder name; 

These were the pledges of my love I 

IV. 

Encircled in her clasping arms, 

How liave the raptur'd moments flown ; 
How liave I wished for fortune's charms, 

For her dear sake, and her's alone I 
And nmst 1 think it ! is she gone. 

My secret Iteart's exulting boast? 
And does she heedless hear my groan ? 

And is she ever, ever lost ? 

V. 

Oh ! can she bear so base a heart, 

So lost to honour, lost to truth, 
As from the fondest lover part, 

The plighted husband of her youth >. 
Alas ! life's path may be unsmooth I 

Her way may lie thro' rough distress; 
Then, who her pangs and pains will sooth, 

Her sorrows share, and make tliem less t 

VL 

Ye winged hours that o'er us past, 

Enraptur'd moie, the more enjoy" d. 
Your dear remembrance in my breast. 

My tondly-treasur'd thoughts employ'd 
That breast, how dreary now, and void, 

For her too scanty once of room ! 
Ev'n ev'ry ray of hope destroy'd. 

And not a wish to gild the gloom ! 

Vli. 

The morn that warns th' approacliing day 
Awakes me up to toil and wo— 



lis POEMS, 

I see the hours m long array, 

That I must suffer, lingering, slow. 
Full many a pang, and many a throe, 

Keen recollection's direful train 
Must wring my soul, ere Phoebus, low, 

Shall kiss the distant western main. 
VIII. 
And when my nightly couch I try, 

Sore harass''d out with care and grief, 
My toil-beat nerves, and tear-worn eye, 

Keep watchings with the nightly thief— 
Or if I slumber, Fancy, chief. 

Reigns hagaard-wild, in sore affright ; 
Ev'n day, all-bitter, brings reUef, 

From such a horror-breathing night. 

IX. 
O ! thou bright queen, who o'er th' expanse 

Now highest reign'st, with boundless sway! 
Oft has thv silent-marking glance 

Observ'd us, fondly-wand'ring, stray! 
The time, unheeded, sped away. 

While love's luxurious pulse beat high, 
Beneath thy silver-gleaming ray, 

To mark the mutual kindhng eye, 

X. 

Oh ! scenes in strong remembrance set ! 

Scenes, never, never, to return ! 
Scenes, if in stupor I forget, 

Again I feel, again I burn ; 
From ev'ry joy and pleasure torn. 

Life's weary vale I'll wander thro' : 
And hopeless, comfortless, I'll mourn 

A faithless woman's broken vow. 



Lj^MEJ^T 
of a mother for the death of her 8 
Tune—" Finlayston House.** 

Pate gave the word, the arrow sped, 
And pierc'd my darling's heart ; 

And with him all the joys are fled 
Life can to me impart. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 

By cruel hands the sapling drops, 
In dust dishonour'd Jaid : 

So fell the pride of all my hopes, 
My age's future shade. 

The mother irnnet in the brake, 
Bewails her ravish'd young — 

So I, for my lost darling's sake. 
Lament the live-day long. 

Death, oft I've fear'd thy fatal blow. 
Now, fond, I bare my breast, 

O, do thou kindly lay me low 
With him I love, at rest ! 



119 



LJIMEJVT 



FOR JAMES, EARL OF GLENCAIRN. 

The wind blew hollow frae the hills. 

By fits the sun's departing beam 
Look'd on the fading yellow woods 

That wav'd o'er Lugar's winding stream ; 
Beneath a craigy steep, a bard, 

Laden with years and ineikle pain, 
In loud lament bewail'd liis lord, 

Whom death had all untimely ta'en. 

He lean'd him to an ancient aik. 

Whose trunk was nioulJ'ring down with years ; 
His locks were bleached white wi' time, 

His hoary cheek was wet wi' tears ! 
And as he touched his trembling harp. 

And as he tun'd his doleful sang, 
The winds, lamenting thro' their caves, 

To Eclio bore the notes alang. 

"Ye scatter'd birds that faintly sing, 

The reliques of the vernal quire ! 
Ye woods that shed on a' the winds 

Tlie honours of the aged year ! 
A few short months, and glad and gay, 

Again ye'll charm the ear and e'e ; 
But nocht in all revolving time 

Can gladness bring again to me. 

" I am a bending aged tree, 
That lona has stood tlie wind and rain — 



POEMS, 

But now has ^ome a cruel blast, 
And my last liald of earth is gane , 

Nae leaf o' mine sliall greet the spring, 
Nae simmer sun exalt my blooin ; 

But I maun lie before the storm, 
And itliers plant them in my room. 

" I've seen sae monie changefu' years, 

On earth I am a stranger grown ; 
I wander in the ways of men. 

Alike unknowing and unknown : 
Unheard, unpitiod, utireliev'd, 

I bear alane my lad'; o' caro, 
For silent, low, on beds of d«.ist, 

Lie a' that would my sorrows share. 

" And last (the sum of a' my griefs!) 

My noble master lies in clay; 
The flow'r amang our barons bold. 

His country's iirids, his country's stay j 
In weary being now I june, 

For a' tlie life of life is dead, 
And hope has b'ft. my aged ken, 

On forward wing for ever tied. 

" Awake thy last sad voice, my harp I 

The voice of wo and wild despair! 
Awake, resonnd thy latest lay, 

Then sleep in silence everinair I 
And thoii, my last, best, only friend, 

That lillest an untimely tomb, 
Accept this tribute from the bard 

T.'iou brought from fortune's niirkesi gloom 
" In poverty's low barren vale. 

Thick mists, obscure, involved me round ; 
Tho' oft I turn'd the wistful eye, 

Nae ray of fame was to be found: 
Thou found'st me like the morning sun 

That melts the fogs in limpid air — 
The friendless bard and rustic song. 

Became alike thy fostering care. 

" O ! why has worth so short a date? 

VVliile villains ripen gray with time 
Must thou, tlie noble, gru'rous, great, 

Fall in bold manhood's hardy prime 1 
Why did I live to see that day 1 

A day to me so full of wo ! 
O ! had I met the mortiil shaft 

Which laid my benefactor low ! 



CHIEFL Y SCO TTISH. 121 

«* Tfje bridegroom may forget the bride 

Was made his wedded wife yestreen ; 
The monarch may forget the crown 

That on liis head an hour has been ; 
The mother may forget the child 

That smiles sae sweetly on her knee ; 
Butril remember thee, Glencairn, 

And a' that thou hast done for me 



LIJ^TES, 

SttNT TO SIR JOHN WHITEFORD, OF WIIITKFORD, BART. 

TFith the foregoing Poem. 

Tmotj who tliy honour as thy God rever'st, 

Who, save thy mind's reproach, nought earthly fear'it. 

To thee this votive offering 1 impart, 

The tearful tribute of a broken heart. 

The /Wend thou valucd'st, I the patron lov'd ; 

Hia worth, his honour, all the world approv'd. 

We'll mourn till we too go as he has gone. 

And tread the dreary path to tJiat dark world unknowik 



Vol, 



Thickest night o'erhangs my dwelling ' 
Howling tempests o'er me rave ! 

Turbid torrents, wintry swelling, 
Still surround my lonely cave. 

Crystal streamlets gently flowing, 
Busy haunts of base mankind. 

Western breezes softly blowing. 
Suit not my distracted mind. 

In the cause of right engaged. 
Wrongs injurious to redress. 

Honour's war we strongly waged. 
But the Heavens denied success. 

Ruin's wheel has driven o'er us. 
Not a hope tliat dare attend,— 

The wide world is all before us. 
But a world without a friend ! 

L I 



182 POEMS, 

THE CHEVALIER'S LAMENT. 

Thk small birds rejoice in the green leaves returning; 

The murmuring streamlet winds clear thro' the vale ; 
The hawthorn trees blow in the dews of the morning, 

And wild-scattered cowslips bedeck the green dale : 

But what can give pleasure, or what can seem fair, 
While the lingering moments are number'd by care? 

No flowers gayly springing, nor birds sweetly singing, 
Can sooth the sad bosom of joyless despair. 

The deed that I dar'd, could it merit their malice, 
A king and a father to place on his throne? 

His right are these hills, and his right are these vallies, 
Where the wild beasts find shelter, but I can find none 

But 'tis not my suflTerings, thus wretched, forlora. 
My brave, gallant friends, 'tis your ruin I mourn ; 

Your deeds prov'd so loyal in hot bloody trial, 
Alas 1 can I make you no sweeter return ! 



THE AUTHOR'S FAREWELL TO HIS NATIVE 

COUNTRY. 

Tune— '' Roslin Castle.'* 
I. 
The gloomy night is gath'ring fast, 
Loud roars the wild, inconstant blast, 
Yon murky cloud is foul with rain, 
I see it driving o'er the plain ; 
The hunter now has left the moor. 
The scatter'd coveys meet secure. 
While liere 1 wander, prest with care, 
Along the lonely banks oi Ayr. 

II. 

The Autumn mourns her rip'ning corn 
By early Winter's ravage torn ; 
Across her placid azure sky, 
She sees the scowling tempest fly : 
Chill runs my blood to hear it rave, 
I think upon the stormy wave. 
Where many a danger I jnust dare. 
Far from the bonie banks of Ayr 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 123 

III. 
'Tifl not the surging billows' roar, 
'Tis not that fatal, deadly shore ; 
Though death in ev'ry shape appear, 
The wretched have no more to fear: 
But round my heart the ties are bound, 
That heart transpierc'd with many a wound ■ 
These bleed afresli, tJiose ties I tear 
To leave the bonie banks oi Jlyr. 

IV. 

Farewell, old Coila's hills and dales, 
Her heatliy moors and winding vales 
The scenes v> here wretched fancy roves, 
Pursuing past, unhappy loves! 
Farewell, my friends ! farewell, my foes ! 
My peace with 'hese, my love with tliose — 
The bursting tf ars my heart declare, 
Farewell tlie bonie banks oi Ayr. 



FAREWELL TO AYRSHIRE. 

Scenes of wo and scenes of pleasure. 
Scenes that former thoughts renew. 

Scenes of wo and scenes of pleasure, 
Now a sad and last adieu I 

Bonie Doon, sae sweet and gloamin. 
Fare thee weel before I gang ! 

Bonie Doon, whare, early roaming, 
First I weav'd the rustic sang I 

Bowers, adieu, whare Love, decoying. 
First inthraird this heart o' mine, 

There the safest sweets enjoying. 

Sweets that Mem'ry ne'er shall tyne! 

Friends, so near my bosom ever, 
Ye hae render'd moments dear ; 

But, alas ! when forc'd to sever, 
Then the stroke, O how severe ! 

Friends ! that parting tear, reserve it, 
Tho' 'tis doubly dear to me I 

Could I think I did deserve it, 
How much happier would I be ! 



124 POEMS, 

Scenes of wo and scenes of pleasure, 
Scenes that former thoughts renew, 

Scenes of wo and scenes of pleasure. 
Now a sad and last adieu ! 



JHE FAREWELL TO THE BRETHREN OF ST. 
JAMES'S LODGE, TAR BOLTON. 

Tune — '■'Good night, and joy be wV you a'/" 
L 
Adieu ! a heart-warm fond adieu ! L^ 

Dear hrothers of the mystic tye ! 
Ye favour'd, ye enlightened fnvv, 

Companions of my social joy ! 
Tho' I to foreign lands must hie, 

Pursuing fortune's sliddery ba', 
With melting heart, and brimful eye, 

111 mind you still, tho' far awa'. 

IL 

Oft have I met your social band. 

And spent the cheerful, festive night: 
Oft, honour' d with supreme command, 

Presided o'er the sons of light : 
And by that hieroglyphic bright, 

Which none but craftsmen ever saw! 
Strong mem'ry on my heart shall write 

Those happy scenes when far awa'. 

IIL 

May freedom, harmony, and love, 

Unite you in the grand design, 
Beneath the Omniscient Eye above, 

The glorious Architect divine! 
That you may keep the unerring line. 

Still rising by the plummet'' s law^ 
Till order bright completely shine. 

Shall be my pray'r when far awa . 

IV 

And you, farewell I whose merits claim, 

Justly, that high-st badire to wear ! 
Heav'n bless your lionour'd, noble name, 

To Masonry and Scotia dear ! 



CHIEFL Y SCO TTISH. 125 

A last request, permit me here, 

When yearly ye assemble a', 
One rounds I ask it with a tear, 

To YAaXi—the Bard that's far awa 



FAREWELL TO ELIZA. 

Tune—" Oilderoy:^ 
L 
From thee, Eliia, I must go, 

And from my native shore ; 
The cruel fates between us throw 

A boundless ocean's roar: 
But boundless oceans, roaring wide, 

Between my love and me, 
They never, never can divide 

My heart and soul from tliee ; 

II. 

Farewell, farewell, Eliia dear, 

The maid that I adore ! 
A boding voice is in mine ear, 

We part to meet no more. 
But the last throb that leaves my heart, 

While death stands victor by, 
That throb, Eliza, is thy part, 

And thine that latest sigh ! 



HIGHLAND MARY. 

Tune—" Katharine Ogie." 

Y« banks, and braes, and streams around 

The castle o' Montgomery, 
Green be your woods, and fair your flowers 

Your waters never drumlie ! 
There simmer first unfauld her robes, 

And there the langest tarry ; 
For there I took the last fareweel 

O' my sweet highland Mary. 
How sweetly bloom'd the cay green birk. 

How rich the hawthorn's blossom ; 
As underneath their fragrant shade, 

T r.lapp'd her to my Wisnni * 



126 POEMS, 

Thp golden hours o!i an'j;pi wings, 
Flew o'er me and my dearie ; 

For dear to me, as li!:iit and life, 
Was my sweet Iliglilaiid Mary. 

VVi' many a vow, and locli'd embrace, 

Our iiarting was fu' lender ; 
Ami, pledging aft to meet again, 

\V^e tore oursels asunder ; 
But oh I fell death's untimely frost 

That nipt my flower sae early ! 
Now fireen's tlie sod, and cauhi's the clay 

That wraps my Highland Mary I 

O pale, pale now, those rosy lips, 

I aft hue kiss'd sae fonfily I 
And clos'd, for ay, the siiarklini? glance, 

'I'hat dwelt on me sae kindly ! 
And mouldering now in si'ent dust, 

Thai heart that lo'ed me dearly ! 
Ru' siill within my bosom's core, 

iShall live my ll'ighlaiid Mary, 



TO M.iRY IJ\r IIKJiVKJ^. 
Tv.nv lingering star, with Icss'nitig ray, 

'I'hat iov'st to '^reel the early morn. 
Again thou nslier'st in the day 

My Mary from my soul was lorn. 
O Mary! dear departed shade! 

Where is thy place of hhssfid rest? 
Seest tliou thy lover lowly laid? 

Hear'st thou the groans that rend Itisbreaati 

That sacred hour can I I'orgot, 

Can I forget the hallow'd grove, 
Where by the winding Jiyr vve mei. 

To live one day of parting love ! 
Eternity will not efface, 

Those records dear of transports past ; 
Thv imaL'e at our last embrace! / 

Ah ! little thought we 'twas our last ! £^^ 

J)yr gurglins kissed his pebbled shore, 
O'erhung with wild wooils, ihick'ni'g, green; 

The fragrajit birch, and hawthfirn hoar, 
Twin'd amorous round the raptur'd scene. 

The flowers sprang wanton to be prest. 
The birds sana love on every spray, 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 127 

Till too, too goon, the p'ovvinc west, 
ProcIaiinM the speed of wiiisid day. 

Still o'er these st'enes my nieni'ry wakes, 

And fondly bnKids vvilli miser care I 
Time but the impression dci-prr makes, 

As streams their channels deeper wear. 
Mv Mary I dear departed shade I 

Where is thy blissful place of rest? 
Seesl tlicu thy 'over lowly laidl 

Uear'stthou the groans ihat rend his breast? 



ELEGY OJ^ THE L.1TE JtlISS BURJ\rET, 

OF MONBODPO. 

fiiFE ne'er exulted in so rich a prize. 

As Bumet, lovely, from hor native skies ; 

Nor envious Death so triumph'd in a blow, 

As that which laid the accomplished Burnet low. 

Tliy form and mind, sweet maid, can I forget? 
In richest ore tli«' briphfest jewel set! 
In thee, high Heaven al-nve was truest shown, 
As by liis noblest work the Godhead best is known. 

In vain ye flaunt in summer's pride, ye groves; 

Thou crystal str.-amlel with tliy fi(!wery shore; 
Ye woodland clioir tliul chant your idle loves. 

Ye cease to charm— Eli/a is no more ! 
Ye heathy wastes, immix'd with reedy fens: 

Ye mossy streams, with sedge and rushes stor'd , 
Ye rugged cliifs, o'erhanging dreary plens. 

To you I fly— ye with my s^oul accord. 

Princes, whose cumb'rous pride was all th*ir worth, 
Shall venal lays their | oirpous exit hail ? 

And thou, sweei excellence '. forsake our earth. 
And not a muse in honest grief bewail '. 

We saw thee shine in youth and beauty's pride, 
J\nd virtue's light, that beam? beyond the siberes 

But like the sun eclips'd at morning tide. 
Thou left'st us darkling in a world of tears. 

The parent's heart that nestled fond in thf-e, 
That heart how sunk, a prey to grief and cace ; 

So decked the woodbine sweet yon agf;d tree, 
So from it ravisli'd, leaves it bleak and bare. 



158 



POEMS, 
VERSES 



ON REAniVG, IN A NEWSPArKR, THE DEATH OF JOHN M'LKOB, 
ESQ. BRO-J IIKP. TO A YOUNU LADV, A PARTICULAR FRIEND 

OF th'j: author's. 

Sad thy ra!o, tlinu idit; page, 

Anil rueful tliy alarms: 
Dratli tear? tho (irotlier of her love 

From Isabella's arms. 

Swf-(!t!y dcck'd willi pearly dew 

The morning rose may blow; 
Bill cold, successive nooiilidc blasts 

May lay its beauties low. 

Fair on Isabella's morti 

The sufi propitious stiiil'd ; 
iJut, lony ere noon, succeedinjr clouds 

Smceediiig hopes bepuii'd. 

I'aii- oft tears the bosom chords 

That Nature finest sinnifi; 
So Isabella's heart was (orni'd, 

And so thai heart was wrung 

Dnad Omnipotenco, alone, 

("an heal the wound he pave; 
<'an |ioinl the brimful prief-worn eyes 

To scenes beyond the grave. 

Virtue's blossoms there shall blow, 

And fear no witli'ring blast: 
There Isabella's spotless vvorlh 

Shall liappy be at last. 



SOJVJiT.T 



OM TIIK DEATH OF ROBERT RIDUkL, ESQ. OT OLKN RIDDKI., 

APRIL, 1794. 

No more, ye warbh^rs of the wood, no more, 
Nor pour yotir ilescant, grating on my sotil ; 
Thou yomig-eyed Spring, gay in thy verdant stole. 

More wj-ltome were lo me grim Winter's wildest roar. 



/^ 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 129 

How can yc cliarm, ye flow'rs, with a'l your dyes ? 

Ye blow upon the sod that wraps my friend : 

How can I to the tuneful strain aiteiid ? 
That strain flows round th' untimely touib wl:ere RidJel Ilea 

Yes, pour, ye warblers, pour the noti s of wo, 
And sooth the Virtues vve(>])ing on tliis bier: 
The Man of IVorih, and has not left Ins jjeer, 

Is in his " narrow house," for ever darkly low. 
Thee, Spring, again with joy shall others greet ; 
Me, mem'ry of my loss will only meet. 



VERSES 

ON THE DEATH OF SIR JAMES HUNTER BLAIR. 

The lamp of day, with ill-presaging glare, 

Dim, cloudly, sunk beneath the western wave ; 
Th' inconstant blast howl'd thro' the darkening air, 

And hollow whistled in the rocky cave. 

Lone as f wander'd by each cliff and dell, 

Once the lov'd haimts of Scotia's royal train ;♦ 
Or mus'ii where limpid streams, once haliow'd well.f 

Or mould'ring ruins niark the sacred fane;J 

Tir increasing blast roar'd round the beetling rocks. 
The clouds, swift wing'd, flew o'er the starry sky, j 

The groaning trees untimely shed their locks, ^^ 

And shooting meteors caught the startled eye. 

The paly moon rose in tlie livid east, 

And 'mong the clilFs distlos'd a stately form, 
In weeds of wo, tiiat frantic boat her breast. 

And mix'd her uailings with the raving stomi. 

Wild to my heart the filial pulses glow, 

'Twas Caledonia's irophied shield T view'd : 
Her form niajejitic droop'd in pensive wo, 

The light'iiing of lier eye in tears imbued. 

Revers'd that spear, redoubtable in war, 

Reclin'd that l)anin'r, erst in fields nnfurl'd, 
Thai like a deathful meteor irleam'd afar, 

And brav'd the mighiy monarchs of the world:— 

• Thp. Kin it' I, Pnrk, lit ILhirro'lhrnme. 

♦ «» Anthonvs H'rll. 1 St. .iiu/iuin/s Chapel 



130 POEMS, 

" My patriot Son fills an untimely grave ! 

With accents wild and lifted arms she cried— 
'• Low lies the hand that oft was stretch'd to save 

Low lies the heart thatswell'd with honest pride ! 

" A weeping country joins a widow's tear, 
The helpless poor mix with the orphan's cry ; 

The drooping arts surround their patron's bier, 
And grateful science heaves the heartfelt sigh. 

" I saw my sons resume their ancient fire ; 

I saw fair Freedom's blossoms richly blow ; 
But ah ! how hope is born but to expire ! 

Relentless fate has laid this guardian low. 

" My patriot falls, but shall he lie unsung. 
While empty greatness saves a worthless nanie? 

No ; every muse shall join her tuneful tongue, 
And future ages hear his growing fame. 

" And I will join a mother's tender car«s, 
Thro' future times to make his virtues last, 

That distant years may boast of other Blairs :"— 
She said, and vanish'd with the sweeping blast 



ADDRESS 

TO THE SHADE OF THOMSON, ON CROWNING HIS BUiT AT 
BDNAM, BOXBUROHSHIRK, WITH BAYS. 

While virgin Spring, by Eden's flood, 

Unfolds her tender mantle green, 
Or pranks the sod in frolic mood, 

Or tunes iEolian strains between ; 

While Summer with a matron grace 
Retreats to Dryburgh's cooling shade, 

Yet oft, delighted, stops to trace 
The progress of the spiky blade ; 

While Autumn, benefactor kind, 

By Tweed erects his aged head. 
And sees, with self-approving mind, 

Each creature on his bounty fed ; 

While maniac Winter ragfs o'er 
The hills whence classic Yarrow flows, 

Housing the turbid torrent's roar. 
Or sweeping, wild, a waste of snowt: 



CHIE FL Y SCO TTISH. 131 

So long, sweet jxK't of the y<ar, 

Shall bloom that wreulli ilioii will hast won ; 
While Scotia, with •■xiiliiiig tear. 

Proclaims that Thomson was liur son. 



EPIT.iPH 

FOR THE AITHOR'S FATIIKR. 

O TK, whose chrfk the ttar of jiity stains. 
Draw near with pious njv'ruiice, and attend; 

Here lie the lovinu liii.-hinul's diai remains, 
The tendt'i fallic-r, and the gen'rous friend. 

The pitying heart that f«'li foi Imman wo; 

The daniilh-ss heart iliai iVnr'd no hnman pride 
The frienil of man, to vice almie a fdc, 

" For ev"n his failings lean'd in virtue's side."* 



FOR n. Jl., ESQ. 

11, O straitfitjr to the i 
^i una iiiiich lov'd. mnch honni., ,. .... 
(For none that knew him need lie imd) 
A warmer heart Death nH'er made coi( 



Know thou, O straitfitjr to the iame 

Of this much lov'd. mnch honnnr'd name 



cold. 



All bonsst man here lie.-5 at re.=i, 
As e'er God with his image h',e.<t ; 
The friend of man, the fiiend of truth ; 
The friend of tij;(;, and guide of youth : 
Few hearts, like his. witii virtue warm'd, 
Pew heads with knowledge so inform'd; 
If there's another world, he lives in bliss ; 
If there is none, he made the best of this. 



* noUsmith. 



POEMS, 

A BAUD'S EPITAPH. 

Ts there a whim-iiiPpircd fool, 
Owre fast for llKnigln, owre luit for rule, 
Owie blalti to s(^ok, owre; proud to snool, 

Let him draw nnar: 
And owre this urassy heap sin<; dool, 

And (hap a tear. 

Is there a Ha'-d of rnstic soni. 
Who, noteless, steals tlie crowds aiiiong> 
That weekly this area iJiroTisr, 
O. nass not by ! 
But with a fiater-fieelitis strons, 
Here iieave a sigli 

Is there a man whose jndjrnieiit clear, 
Can others teach the course to steer, 
Yet runs, himse'f. life's innJ career, 

Wild as the wave ; 
Here pause — and thro' the starting tear, 

Survey this grave. 

The poor itihnhitant below 
Was quirk to learn and wise to know, 
And keenly felt the friendly glf)W, 

And softer flame, 
But lhou!;lit,lesp follies laid him low, 
And staiii'd his iianie ! 

Reader, attejid -whetlier thy soul 
Soars fancy's flijihls beyond the pole. 
Or darkly grubs this earthly hole, 

In low pursuit; 
Know, prudent, cautious, self-control, 

Is wisdom's root. 



VERSES 

ON THK BIRTH OF A POSTHDMOUS CHILD, 

Bom in peculiar circumstancfs of Family Distreit, \f 

SwKET Flow'ret, pledge o' irieikle love, 

And ward o' monie a pray*r, 
Wliat heart o' stane wad thou na move, 

Sae helpless, sweet, and fair ! 



I 

CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 133 ' 

November hirples o'er the lea, 

Chill on thy lovely form ; 
And gane, alas ! the sheltering tree. 

Should shield thee frae the storm. 

May He who gives the rain to pour, 

And wings the blast to blaw, 
Protect thee frae the driving show'r, 

The bitter frost and snaw 1 



i i May He, the friend of wo and want, 

; Who heals life's various stounds, 

I Protect and guard the mother-plant, 

1 1 And heal her cruel wounds. 



I j But late she flourished, rooted fast, 

I i Fair on the summer morn ; 

1 ; Now, feebly bends she in the blast, 

' : Unsnelter'd and forlorn. 

Blest be thy bloom, thou lovely gem, 
Unscath'd by ruffian hand ; 

And from thee many a parent stem 
Arise to deck our land. 



OJV SEJ^SIBILITY. 

TO MT DKAR AND MUCH HONOURED FRIEND, MRS DCNLOP 
OF DUKLOP. 

Sensibility, how charming, 

7"Aou, myfriaid, canst truly tell ; 

But distress with horrors arming, 
Thou hast also known too well. 

Fairest flower, behold the lily, 

Blooming in the sunny ray ; 
Let the blast sweep o'er the valley, 

See it prostrate on the clay. 

Hear the wood-lark charm the forest. 

Telling o'er his little joys ; 
Hapless bird ! a prey the surest, 

To each pirate of the skies. 

Dearly bought the hidden treasure, 

Finer feelings can bestow ; 
Chords that vibrate sweetest pleasure, 

Thrill the deepest notes of w«. 



134 POEMS, 1 1 

VERSES, I 

>N 8EKINO A WOUNDED HARE LIMP BY MK, WHICH A FBLLOW I 

HAD JUST SHOT AT. 1 

Inhuman man ! curse on thy barb'rous art, 

And blasted be thy murder-aiming eye : 

May never pity soolh thee with a sigh, 
Nor ever pleasure glad thy cruel heart I J 

Go, live, poor wanderer of the wood and field, 

The bitter little that of life remains ; 

No more the thickening brakes and verdant plains 
To thee shall home, or food, or pastime yield. 

Seek, mangled wretch, some place of wonted rest. 

No more of rest, but now thy dying bed ! 

The sheltering rushes whistling o'er thy head, 
The cold earth with thy bloody bosom prest. 

Oft as by winding Nith, I, musing, wait 

The sober eve, or hail the cheerful dawn, 

ril miss thee sporting o'er the dewy lawn, 
And curse the ruffian's aim, and mourn thy hapless fate. 



ON SCARING SOME WATER-FOWL IN LOCH TURIT, A WILD 
SCENE AMONG THE HILLS OF OUOHTERTYRE. 



i/ 



Why, ye tenants of the lake, 
For me your wat'ry haunt forsake 1 
Tell me, fellow creatures, why 
At my presence thus you fly 1 
Why disturb your social joys, 
Parent, filial, kindred tiesi— 
Common friend to you and mc, 
Nature's gifts to all are free ; 
Peaceful keep your dimpling wave, 
Busy feed, or wanton lave; 
Or, beneath the sheltering rock. 
Bide the surging billow's shock, 

Conscious, blushing for our race, 
Soon, too soon, your fears I trace; 
Man, your proud usurping foe, 

Would be lord of all below ; ! 

Plumes himself in Freedom's pride 
Tyrant stern to all beside. 



CUIEFL Y SCO TTISH. 133 

The eagle from the cliffy brow, i 

Marking you his prey below, j 

In his breast no pity dwells, ' 

Strong necessity compels ; 
But man, to whom alone is giv'n 
A ray direct from pitying Heav'n, 
Glories in his heart humane,— 
And creatures for his pleasure slaio. 



I In these savage, liquid plains, 

i Only known to wand' ring swains, 

! Where the mossy riv'let strays, 

Far from human haunts and ways, 
' All on Nature you depend, 

! And life's poor season peaceful spend. 

Or, if man's superior might, 
Dare invade your native right. 
On the lofty ether borne, 
Man with all his pow'rs you scorn ; 
Swiftly seek, on clanging wings. 
Other lakes and other springs ; 
And the foe you cannot brave, 
Scorn at least to be his slave. 



SOJVJVET, 

WRITTEN ON THE 25tH OF JANUARY, 1793, THE BIRTHDAY 
OF THE AUTHOR, ON HEARING A THRUSH IN A MORNINO 
WALE. 

SiNa on, sweet thrush, upon the leafless bough ; 

Sing on, sweet bird, I listen to thy stram; 

See aged Winter, mid his surly reign. 
At thy blithe carol clears his furrow'd brow ; 
So in lone Poverty's dominion drear. 

Sits meek Content, with light, unanxious heart, 

Welcomes the rapid moments, bids them part, 
i Nor asks if they bring aught to hope or fear. 

I thank thee, Author of this opening day, 
1 Thou whose bright sun now gilds yon orient skies ! 

! i Riches denied, thy boon was purer joys, 

! I What wealth could never give nor take away ! 

i j Yet come, thou child of poverty and care ; 

i ! Themitc high Heav'n bestow'd, that mile with thee 1 11 shnr^ 

i! 

I; 



136 POEJIIS, 

TO A MOUSE, 

ON TURNING! HER UP IN HER NEST, VVITH TH« PLOUOH, 

NOVEMBER, 1785, 

WEE,sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rousbeastie! 
O, what a panic's in thy breastie! 
Thou need nae start awa sae hasty, 

Wi' bickcrin brattle! 
1 wad be laith to rin an' chase thee, 

Wi' murd' ring pattZe/ 

I'm truly sorrow man's dominion 
Has broken Nature's social union, 
An' justifies that ill opinion, 

Which makes thee startle 
At me, thy poor earth-born companion, 

An' fcllow-inortal I 

I doubt na, whyles but thou may thieve? 
What then ? poor bcastie, thou maun live ! 
A daimen-ickcr in a thrave 

's a sma' request : 
I'll get a blessin wi' the lave. 

And never miss't I 

Thy wee bit housip, too, in ruin ! 
Its silly wa's the win's are strewin ; 
An' naething, now, to big a new ane, 

O' foggage green ; 
An' bleak December win's ensuin, 
Baith snell and keen ! 

Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste. 
An' weary winter comin' fast, 
An cozie here, beneath the blast, 

Thou thought to dwell, 
Till, crash ! the cruel coulter past 

Out thro' thy cell. 

That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble. 
Has cost thee monie a weary nibble ! 
Now thou'st turn'd out, for a' thy trouble, 

But house or hald, 
To thole the winter's sleety dribble. 

An' cranreuch cauid I 
But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane, 
In proving foresight may be vain: 
The best laid scheme o' mice an' men, 

Gang aft a-gley. 
An* lea'e us nought but grief and pain 

For promis'd joy. 



CHIEFL Y SCO TTISH, 137 

Still thou art blest, compar'd wi' me! 
The present only toucheth thee ; 
But, och ! 1 backward cast my e'e, 

On prospects drear ! 
An' forward, tho' I canna see, 
I giuss an' fear. 



i TO A MOU^TTAUf DAISY, 

! OM TUKOTNO ONE DOWN WITH THE PLOUGH, IN APRIL, 1' 

Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flow'r, 

I Thou'st met me in an evil hour ; 

! For I maun crush amang the stoure 

I Thy slender stem ; 

I To spare thee now is past my pow'r, 

I Tliou bonie gem. 



Alas '. it's no thy neebor sweet, 

I The bonie Lark, con)panion meet, ^ 

J Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet, 1 1 

I Wi' spreckled breast, 1 

' When upward-springing, blithe, to greet j 

j The purpling East. 

! Cauld blew the bitter-biting North 

I Upon thy early, humble birth ; 

I Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth 

I Amid the storm, 

I Scarce rear'd above the parent-earth 

I Thy tender form. 

I The flaunting flow'rs our gardens yield, 

High ehelt'ring woods and wa's maun shield ; 

I But tliou beneath the random bield 

I O' clod or stane, 

! Adorns the histie stibble-field, 

I Unseen, alane. 



There, in t,h" ^anty mantle clad, 
Thv (^.swie bo'som sunward spread 
f-faou lifts thy unassuming head 

In humble guise ; 
But now the share uptears thy bed, 

And low thou lies ! 



Vot. I. 



Such is the fate of artless Maid; 
Sweet /ow' ret of the rural shade 
. T. K 



138 POEMS, 

By love's simplicity betray'd, 

And guileless trust, 
Till she, like thee, all soil'd, is laid 

Low i' the dust. 

Such is the fate of simple Bard, 
On life's rough ocean luckless starr'd ; 
Unskilful he to note the card 

0{ prudent lore. 
Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, 

And whelm him o'er. 

Such fate to suffering worth is giv'n. 
Who long with wants and woes has striv^Ot 
By human pride or cunning driv'n, 

To mia'ry's brink. 
Till wrench'd of ev'ry stay but Heav^th 

He, ruin'd, sink ! 

Ev'n thou who mourn' d the Daisy's fate, 
That fate is thine— no distant date; 
StemKuin'' 8 plough- share drives, elate, 

Full on thy bloom, , , 

Till crush'd beneath the furrow's weight, i i 

Shall be thy doom. ' 



XHE HUMBLE PETITIOJf OF BRUAR WATER,* 

TO THE NOBLE DUKE OF ATHOLB. 

My lord, I know your noble ear 

Wo ne'er assails in vain : 
Emboldened thus, I beg you'll hear 

Your humble slave complain, , , 

How saucy Phoebus' scorching beams, I 

In flaming summer-pride, | 

Dry-withering, waste my foamy streams 

And drink my crystal tide. ! 

The lightly jumping glowrin tioute, I 

That thro' my waters play, i 

If, in their random, wanton spoutfi, j 

They near the margin stray ; [ 



* Bruar Falls, in Athole, are ezeeedtngly pieturtspumid 
beautiful: but their effect is much impaired by the waul #/ 
trees and shrubs. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 139 

If, hapless chance, they linger lang, 

I'm scorching up bo shallow, 
They're left the whil'ning stanes amang, 

In gasping death to wallow. 

Last day I grat wi' spite and teen, 

As Poet B**** came by, 
That, to a Bard, I should be seen 

Wi' half my channel dry; 
A panegyric rhyme, I ween, 

Ev'n as I was, he shor'd me ; 
But had I in my glory been, 

He, kneeling, wad ador'd me. 

Here, foaming down the shelvy rocks, 

In twisting strength 1 rin ; 
There, high my boiling torrent smokes, 

Wild-roaring o'er a linn : 
Enjoying large each spring and well 

As nature gave them me, 
I am, altho' 1 say't mysel, 

Worth gaun a mile to see. 

Would then my noble master please 

To grant my highest wishes. 
He'll shade my banks wi' tow'ring trees, 

And bonie spreading bushes ; 
Delighted doubly then, my lord, 

You'll wander on my banks, 
And listen monie a grateful bird 

Return you tuneful thanks. 

The sober lav'rock, warbUng wild. 

Shall to the skies aspire ; 
The gowdspink music's gayest child. 

Shall sweetly join the choir ; 
The blackbird strong, the lintwhite clear. 

The mavis mild and mellow ; 
The robin pensive autumn cheer. 

In all her looks of yellow : 

This too, a covert shall ensure. 

To shield them from the storm ; 
And coward maukin sleep secure. 

Low in her grassy form ; 
Here shall the shepherd make his sea^ 

To weave his crown of flow'rs ; 
Or find a shelt'ring, safe retreat. 

From prone descending show'rs. 



140 POEMS, 

And here, by sweet endearing etealth, 

Shall meet the loving pair, 
Despising worlds with all their wealth 

As empty, idle care. 
The flow'rs shall vie in all their charms, 

The hour of heav'n to grace, 
And birks extend their fragrant arms, 

To screen the dear embrace. 

'■ Here haply too, at vernal dswn, 

Some musing Bard may stray, 
And eye the smoking, dewy lawn, 

And misty mountain, gray ; 
Or, by the reaper's nightly beam, 

Mild chequ'ring thro' the trees, 
Rave to my darkly-dashing stream. 

Hoarse-swelling on the breeze. 

Let lofty firs, and ashes cool, 

My lowly banks o'erspread, 
And view, deep-bending in the pool, 

Their shadows' wat'ry bed ; 
Let fragrant birks in woodbines drest 

My craggy clifts adorn ; 
And, for the little songster's nest, 

The close embow'ring thorn. 

So may old Scotia's darling hope, 

Your little angel band, 
Spring, like their father's, up to prop 

Their honour'd native land. 
So may thro' Albion's farthest ken, 

To social flowing glasses. 
The grace be—" Athole's honest men, 

" And Athole's bonie lasses !" 



LTJ\rES 



WRITTEN WITH A PENat, OVER THE CHIMKlT-niOBi B 
THE PARLOUR OF THE INN AT EENHORB, TATMOimL 

AoMiRrNG Nature in her wildest grace, 
These northern scenes with weary feet I trace ; 
O'er many a winding dale and painful steep, 
Th' abodes of covey'd grouse and timid sheep, 
My savage journey, curious, I pursue. 
Till fam'd Breadalbane opens to my view — 



\/ 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. Ml 

The meeting cliffa each deep-sunk glen divides, 
The woods, wild scatter'd, clotlie their ample sides ; 
Th' outstretching lake, embosom'd 'mong the hills, 
The eye with wonder and amazement fills ; 
The Tay, nieand'ring sweet, in infant pride. 
The palace rising on his verdant side ; 
The lawns wood-fring'd in Nature's native taste ; 
The hillocks dront in Nature's careless haste ; 
The arches striding o'er the new-born stream ; 
The village, glittering in the noon-tide beam- 



Poetic ardours in my bosom swell, 

Lone, wand'ring by the hermit's mossy cell : 

The sweeping theatre of hanging woods ; 

Th' incessant roar of headlong tumbling floods — 



Here Poesy might wake her heav'n-taught lyre, 

And look thro' Nature with creative fire ; 

Here, to the wrongs of Fat*", half reconcil'd, 

Misfbrtune's lighien'd steps might wander wild ; 

And Disappointment, in these lonely bounds. 

Find balm to sooth her bitter, rankling wounds ; 

Here heart-struck Grief might heav'n-ward stretch her scan 

And injur'd Worth forget and pardon man. 



Z,/JVJSS 

WUTTBM WITH A. PENCIL, STANDING BY THE FALL OP 

FYKRS, NEAR LOCH-NESS. 

Amomo the heathy hills and ragged woods 

The roaring Fyers pours his mossy floods ; 

Till full he dashes on the rocky mounds. 

Where, through a shapeless breach, his stream resounds. 

As high in air the bursting torrents flow, 

As (Jeep recoiling surges foam below. 

Prone down the rock the whitening sheet descends, 

And viewless Echo's ear, astonish'd, rends. 

Dim-seen, through rising mists and ceaseless show'ra 

The hoary cavern, wide-surrounding, low'rs. 

Still tl»')' the gap the struggling river toils, 

Aod still, below, tlie horrid caldron boils— 



Book IIL 

FAMILIAR AND EPISTOLARY. 
TO MISS J. 

WITH BKATTIE'S poems AS A NKW-YKAR'S GIFT, JAITOAXT 

1, 1787. 

Again the silent wheels of time 
Their annual round have driv'n. 

And you, iho' scarce in nnaiden prime, 
Are so much nearer heav'n. 



No gifts have I from Indian ( 

The infant year to hail ; 
I send you more tlian India bo&sti 

In EdwiiCs simple tale. 

Our sex with guile and faithless love 
Is charg'd, perhaps too true ; 

But may, dear maid, each lover prove 
An Edwin still to you. 



TO MISS CRVICKSUAICKS^ 

A VERY TOtJNQ LADT, 

Written on the blank leaf of a Book, presented to her by the 
Jiuthor. 

Beauteous rose-bud, young and gay, 
Blooming on thy early May, 



V^ 



1 1 Never may'st thou, lovply flow'r, j y^ \ 

I j Chilly shrink in sleety show'r ! L-^ I 

Never Boreas' hoary path, : 

Never Eurus' pois'nous breath, ' \ 

Never baleful steller lights, :' j 

Taint thee with untimely blights ; j j 

• I 

I! 



P OEMS, CHIEFL Y SCO TTISH. 143 

Never, never reptile thief 

Riot on thy virgin leaf I 

Nor even Sol too fiercely view 

Thy bosom blushing still with dew ! 

May'et thou long, sweet crimson gem, 
Richly deck thy native stem ; 
Till some evening, sober, ca!m, 
Dropping dews, and breathing balm. 
While all around the woodland rings, 
And ev'ry bird thy requiem sings ; 
Thou am'id the dirgeful sound. 
Shed thy dying honours round, 
And resign to parent earth 
The loveliest form she e'er gave birth. 



VERSES 

ON A YOUNG LADY, 

Rending on the banks of the small river Devon, m Clack- 
mannanshire., hut whose infant years were spent in Ayr- 
shire. 

How pleasant the banks of the clear-winding Devon, 
With green spreading bushes, and flow'rs blooming fair; 

But the boniest flower on the banks of the Devon 
Was once a sweet bud on the braes of the Ayr. 

Mild be the sun on this sweet-blushing flower, 

In the gay, rosy mom, as it bathes in the dew I 
And gentle the fall of the soft vernal shower, " I ! 

That Bteals on the evening each leaf to renew. j 

O spare the dear blossom, ye orient breezes, ' 

With chill hoary wing, as ye usher the dawn ! j 

And far be thou distant, thou reptile that seizes j 

The TCidure and pride of the garden and lawn. i 

IM Bourbon exult in his gay gilded lilies, 

And England triumphant display her proud rose ; 
A (klrer than either adorns the green vallies 

Where Devon, sweet Devon, meandering flows. 



141 POEMS, \ I 

VERSES |! 

TO A YOUNG LADY, WITH A PRESENT OF SOMCM* j 

Here, where the Scottish muse immortal Uv«^ j i 

1 In sacred strains and tuneful numbers join'd jj 

Accept the gift ; tho' humble he who gives, , 

Rich is the tribute of the grateful mind. j | 

1 So may no ruffian-feeling in thy breast j j 

Discordant jar thy bosora-chords among ; { j 

But peace attune thy gentle soul to rest, 1 1 

Or love ecstatic wake his seraph song : ; I 



Or pity's notes, in luxury of tears, | 

As modest want the tale of wo reveals ; | 

While conscious virtuo all the strain endears | 

And heav'n-bom piety her sanction seals. i 



VERSES, \ j 

frRlTTBM ON THE BLANK LEAP 07 A COPY OF HIS POBKB, j 1 

PBK8BNTED TO A LADY, WHOM HE HAD OFTEN CELEBRAT- ■ > | 

BD UNDER THE NAME OF CHLORIS. ! | 

•Tis Friendship's pledge, my young fair friend, j 

Nor thou the gift refuse, 
Nor with unwilling ear attend 

The moralizing muse. 

Since thou, in all thy youth and charms, , 

Must bid the world adieu, 
(A world 'gainst peace in constant ano"^ ' 

To join the friendly few. 

Since, thy gay mom of life o'ercast, 

Chill came the tempest's lower ; 
^And ne'er misfortime's eastern blast 

Did nip a f^er flower.) 

Since life's gay scenes must charm no 

Still much is left behind ; 
Still nobler wealth hast thou in store, 

The comforts of the mijid! 1 1 

Thine Is the self-approving glow, I 

On conscious honour's part ; 1 1 

And, dearest gift of Heaven below, i | 
Tune friendship's truest heart 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 145 

Tbe joys refin'd of sense and taste, 

With every Muse to rove : 
And doubly were the Poet blest. 

These joys could he improve. 



VERSES, 

WRITTEN ON THE BLANK LEAF OF A COPY OF HIS POEMS, PRE 
8KNTED TO AN OLD SWEETHEART, THEN MARRIED. 

Once fondly lov'd, and still remember'd dear, 

Sweet early object of my youthful vows. 
Accept this mark of frioiidship, warm, sincere, 

Friendship !— 'tis all cold duty now allows : 
And when you read the simple, artless rhymes, 

One friendly sigh for him, he asks no more, 
Who distant bums in flaming, torrid climes, 

Of haply lies beneath the Atlantic roar. 



TO A YOUJ^G LADY, 

MISS JE8BT L , DUMFRIES ; WITH BOOKS WHICH THE BAR0 

PRESENTED HER. 

Think be the volumes, Jessy fair, 
And with tliem take tlie Poet's prayer ; 
That Fate may in her fairest page. 
With ev'ry kindliest, best presage 
Of Tuture bliss, enrol thy name. 
With native worth and spotless fame. 
And wakeful caution, still aware 
Of ill— but chief, man's felon snare ; 
AH blameless joys on eartli we find 
And all the treasures of the mind— 
These be thy guardiar and reward. 
So prays thy faithful friend, the Bard. 



TO J. S**** I 

Friendship ! mysterious cement of the soul , | \ 

Sweetener of life., and solder of society ! i '. 

I owe thee much.— Blaib. i j 



Dear S****, the eleest, paukie thief, 
That e'er attempted stealth or rief, 






146 POEMS, 

Ye surely hae some warlock-breef 

Ovvre human hearts ; 
For ne'er a bosom yet was prief 

Against your aria. 
For me, I swear by sun and moon, 
And ev'ry star that blinkii aboon, 
Ye've cost me twenty pair o' shoon 

Just gaun to see you ; 
And ev'ry ither pair that's done, 

Mair ta'en I'm wi' you- 
That auld capricious carlin. Nature, 
To mak amends for scrimpit stature, 
She's turn'd you atf ' a human creature 

On her first plan. 
And in hsr freaks, on ev'ry feature, 

She's wrote the Man. 
Just now I've ta'en the fito' rhyme. 
My barmie noddle's working prime, 
My fancie yerkite up sublime 

Wi' hasty summon ; 
Hae ye a leisure-moment's time 

To hear what's comin'? 
Some rhyme, a neebor's name to lash ; 
Some rhyme (vain thought!) for needfu' cash" 
Some rhyme to court the counira da«>i, 

An' raise a din ; 
For me, an aim 1 never fash ; 

I rhyme for fun. 
The star that rules my luckless lot. 
Has fated me the russet coat, 
And daran'd my fortune to the groat ; 

But in requit, 
Has bless'd me wi' a random shui 

O' countra wit. 
This while my notion's ta'en a sklem, 
To try my fate in guid black prent; 
But still tie mair I'rn that way bent, 

Something cries, " Hooliti 
I rede you, honest man, tak tent ! 

Ye'll shaiv your folly. 

" There's ithcr poets, much your bettsts, 
Far seen in Greek, deep men o' letteiB, 
Hae thought they had insur'd their doblan 

A' future ages ; 
Now moths deform in shapeless tatters 

Their unknown pAS«s." 



CmEFL Y SCOTTISH. 147 

Then fareweel hopes o' laurel-boughs, 
To garland my poetic brows ! 
Henceforth I'll rove where busy ploughs 

Are whistling thrang, 
An teach the lanely heights and howes 

My rustic sang. 

I'll wander on wi' tentless heed, 
How never-halting moments speed, 
Till fate shall snap tlie brittle thread ; 

Then, all unknown, 
I'll lay me with the inglorious dead, 

Forgot and gone ! 

But why o' Death begin a tale ? 
Just now we're living, sound, and hale, 
Then top and maintop crowd the sail, 

Heave Care o'er-side ! 
And large, before Enjoyment's gale, 

Let's tak the tide. 

This life, sae far's I understand, 
Is a' enchanted, fairy land, 
Where Pleasure is the magic wand 

That, wielded right, 
Maks hours like minutes, hand in hand, 

Dance by fu' light. 

The magic wand then let us wield ; 
For, ance that five-an '-forty's speel'd, 
See crazy, weary, joyless Eild, 

Wi' wrinkled face, 
Comes hostin, hirplin owre the field, 

Wi' creepin pace. 

When ance Life's day draws near the gloamin, 
Then fareweel vacant, careless roamin ; 
An' fareweel cheerfu' tankards foamin, 

An' social noise ; 
An' fareweel dear, deluding woman, 
The joy of joys ! 

O life ! how pleasant in thy morning 
Young Fancy's rays the hills adorning I 
Cold-pausing Caution's lessons scorning. 

We frisk away, 
Like school-boys, at th' expected warning. 

To joy and play. 

We wander there, we wander here, 
We eye the rose upon the brier, 



148 POEMS, 

Unmindful that the thorn is near, 

Among the leaves ; 
And though the puny wound appear, 

Short while it grieves. 
Some, lucky, find a flow'ry spot, 
For which they never toil'd nor swat ; 
They drink the sweet, and eat the fat, 

But care or pain ; 
And, haoly, eye the barren hut 

With high disdain. 
With steady aim, some Fortune chase; 
Keen Hope does every sinew br.ice ; 
Thro' fair, thro' foul, they urge the race, 

And seize the prey ; 
Then canie, in some cozie i)lace. 

They close the day. 
And others, like your humble servan'. 
Poor wights ! nae rules nor roads observin ; 
To riglit or left eternal swervin, 

They zig-zag on ; 
Till curst with a:i;e, obscure an' starvin, 

They afien groan. 
Alas ! what bitter toil an' straining — 
But, truce with peevish, poor complaining ! 
Is Fortune's fickle I.una waning J 

E'en let her gang ! 
Beneath what light she has remaining, 

Let's sing our sang. 
My pen I here fling to tlie door, 
And kneel, " Ye Powers!" and warm implore^ 
"Tho' I should wander 7'crra o'er, 

In all her climes, 
Grant me but this, I ask no more. 

Ay rowth o' rhymes. 

" Gie dreeping roasts to countra lairds, 
Till icicles hing frue their beards ; 
Gie fine braw claes to fine Life-Ouarda, 
And Maids o' Honour; 
! t And yill an' whiskey gie to Cairds, 

! ( Until ii.py sconncr. 

"A Title, Dempster merits it ; 

I i A garter gie to Willie Pitt: 

I I Gie Wealth to some be-leger'd cit, 
; I In cent, per eeni- ; 

But gie me real, (sterling Wit, 

And I'm content. 



CHIEFL T SCO TTISH. 149 

*< While ye are pleas'd to keep me bale, 
I'll sit down o'er my scanty meal, 

Be't water-brose or musljn-kail, i ; 

Wi' cheerfu' face, ' 

As lang's tlie Muses dinna fail I ; 

To say tlie grace." 1 1 

An anxious e'e I never throws j j 

Behint my lug, or by my nose ; j { 

I jouk beneath Misfortune's blows \ j 

As weel's I may ; j | 

Sworn foe to Ssrrow, Care, and Prose, j j 

I rhyme away. I ! 

O ye douce folk, that live by rule, ! j 

Grave, lideless-bloody, calm, and cool, I i 

Compar'd wi' you— O fool I fool ! fool ! , • 

How much unlike ! 

Your hearts are just a standing pool, ' | 

Your lives, a dyke ! ! ; 

Nae hair-brain'd, sentimental trac^ai I ' 

In your unlettered nameless faces, I ' 

In arioso trills and graces I ■ 

Ye never stray ; I ; 

But, gravissirao, solemn basses 

Ye hum away. i - 

Ye are sae grave, nae doubt ye're wise; '' 

Nae ferly tho' ye do despise 
The hairum scairum, ram-stam boys, 

The rattlin squad : 
I see you upward cast your eyes— 

Ye ken the road. 

Whilst I— but I shall baud me there— 
Wi* you I'll scarce gang ony where — 
Then, Jamie, I shall say nae mair. 

But quat my sang. 
Content wi' you, to mak a pair, 

Whare'er I gang. 



ISO POEMS, 

EPISTLE TO DAVIE, 

A BROTHER POET.* 

January • 

I. 

While winds frae aff Ben-Lomond Maw 
And bar the doors wi' driving snaw, 

And hing us owre the ingle, 
I sit me down to pass the tinae, 
And spin a verse or twa o' rhyme, 

In hamelv westlin jingle. 
While frosty winds blaw in the drift, 

Ben to the chimla lug, 
I grudge a wee the great folks' gift, 
That live sae bien an' snug : 
I tent less, and want lesa 
Their roomy fire side ; 
But hanker and canker, 
To see Uieir cursed pride. 

n. 

It's hardly in a body's pow'r 
To keep at times frae being sour, 

I i To see liow things are shar'd ; 

i How best o' chiels are whiles in want, 

! While coofs on countless thousands rant, 

j And ken na how to wair't : 

I But, Davie, lad, ne'er fash your head, 

1 Tho' we hae little gear, 

■' : We're fit to win our daily bread. 

As lang's we're hale and fier ; 
" Mair spier na, no fear na,"t 
Auld age ne'er mind a feg, 

I I The last o't, the warst o't, 
j , Is only for to beg. 

I - in. 

I To lie in kilns and barns at e'en, 

I When banes arc craz'd and bluid is thin 

I Is, doubtless, great distress ! 

j t Yet then cont;3nt could make us blest ; 

j j Ev'n then, sometimes we'd snatch a taste 

I Of truest happiness. 

i I • David Sillar, one of the club at Tarbolton^ and author 

j I of a volume of Poems in the Scottish dialect. 

H t Ramsay. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 151 jj 

The honest heart that's free frae a' j ! 

Intended fraud or guile, | ! 

However Fortune kick the ba', i ! 

Has ay some cause to smile ; ; 

And mind still, you'll find still, | j 

A comfort this nae sma' ; 
Nae mair then, we'll care then, 
Nae farther can we fa'. 

IV. 

What tho', like commoners of air, 
We wander out we know not where, 

But either house or hal' ! 
Yet nature's charms, the hills and woods, 
The sweeping vales and foaming floods, 

Are free alike to all. 
In days wlien daisies deck the ground, 

And blackbirds whistle clear, 
With hoa«sl joy our hearts will bound, 
To see the coming year : 
On braces when we please, then. 

We'll sit an' sowth a tune; 
Syne rhyme till't, we'll time ull t. 
And sins't when we hae done. 

V. 

It's no in titles nor in rank 

It's no in wealth like Lon'on bank, 

To purchase peace and rest ; 
It's in makhJ muckle mair ; 
It's no in hocks ; it's no m lear, 

To make us truly blest: 
If happiness hae not her seat 

And centre in the breast, 
We may be wise, or rich, or great, 
But never can be blest : 

Nae treasures, nor pleasures, 

Could make us happy lang ; 
The heart's ay the part ay, 
Tliat makes us right or wrang. 

! Thmk ye, that sic as you and 1, 

Wha drudge and drive thro' wet and dry, 
Wi' never-ceasins; toil, 
1 Think ye, are we less blest than they, 

I Wha scarcely tent us in tlieir way, 

1 As hardly worth their while -« 



152 POEMS, 

Alaa ! how aft in haughty mood, 
God's creatures they oppress ! 
Or else, neglecting a' that's guid, 
They riot in excess ! 
Baith careless and fearless 
Of either heav'n or hell ! 
Esteeming, and deeming 
It's a' an idle tale ! 

VU. 

Then let us cheerfu' acquiesce, 
Nor make our scanty pleasures less, | 

By pining at our state ; j | 

And, even should misfortunes come, 1 1 

I, here wha sit, hae met wi' some, • j 

An' 's thankfu' for them yet, , i 

They gie the wit of age to youth ; 

Tliey let us ken oursel ; 
They make us see the naked truth, 
The real guid and ill. 
Tho' losses and crosses, 

Be lessons right severe, 
There's wit there, ye'll get there, 
Ye'll find na other where. i 

VIII. 

But tent me, Davie, ace o' hearts ! ; \ 

(To say aught less wad wrang the cartes • 

And flatt'ry I detest,) : j 

This life has joys for you and I ; j i 

And joys that riches ne'er could buy ; ; 

And joj'^s the very best. ' ! I 

There's a' the pleasures o' the Jieart, | ] 

The lover an' the frien' ; ; | 

Ye hae your Mejg; your dearest part, ! | 

And I my darling Jean I i ; 

It warms me, ircharms me, ; i 

To mention but her name : i j 

It heats me, it beets me, ; | 

And sets me a' on flame! 



IX. 

O all ye Pow'rs who rule above ! 
O Tliou whose very self art lovel 

Thou know'st my words sincere ! 
Tne life-blood streaming thro' my beart 
Or my more dear iu; mortal pari 



i [s not more fondly dear : 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH, 153 

When heart-corroding care and grief i 

Deprive my soul of rest, 

Her dear idea brings relief i 

And eolace to my breast. I 

Thou Being, All-seeing, i 

O hear my fervent pray'r . ; 

Still take her, and make her \ 

Thy most peculiar care ! | 

X. I 

All hail, ye tender feelings dcai : i 

The smile of love, the friendly tear, i 

The sympathetic glow ; ; 

Long since, this world's thorny ways i 

Kad number'd out my weary days, i 

Had it not been for you ! I 

Fate still has blest me with a friend, i 

In every care and ill ; i 

And oft a more endearing band, j 

A tie more tender still. | 

It lightens, it brightens, ! 

The tenebrific scene, j 

To meet with, and greet with, | 

My Davie or my Jean. \ 

XL I 

O, how that name inspires my style ! i 

The words come skelpin rank and file, I 

Amaist before I ken ! | 

The ready measure rins as fine, 1 

As Phcebus and the famous Nine 

Were glowrin owre my pen. j 
My spaviet Pegasus will limp. 

Till ance he's fairly het; ! 

And then he'ii hilch, and stilt, and jimp, j 

An' tin an unco fit : j 

But lest then, the beast then, j 

Should rue this hasty ride, I 

I'll light now, and dight now, j 

His sweaty, wizen'd hide. ' 



TO THE SAME. 
AVLD NEEBOR, 

I'M three times doubly o'er your debtor, 
For your auld-farrant, frien'ly letter, 
Tho' I maun say"t, I doubt ye flatter. 
Ye epeak sae fair ; 
Vol. T. T' 



154 POEMS, 

For my puir, silly, rhjTuin' clatter, 
Some lcs3 maun sair. 

Hale be your heart, hale be your fiddle ; 
Lang may your elbuck jink an' diddle, 
To cheer you tliro' the weary widdle 

O' war'ly cares, 
Till bairns' bairns kindly cuddle 

Your auld gray hairs. 

But, Davio, lad, I'm redye're glaikit ; 
I'm lauld the muse ye hae negleckit, 
An' gif its sae, ye sud be licket 

Until ye fyke ; 
Sic hauns as you sad ne'er be faikit, 

Be hain't wha like. 

For me, I'm on Parnassus' brink, 

Rivin the words tae gar them clink ; 

Whyles daez't wi' love, whylea daez't wi' drink 

VVi' jads or masons ; 
An' whyles, but ay owre late, I think 

Braw sober '.essons. 

Of a' the thoughtless sons o' man, 
Commen' me to the Bardie clan ; 
Except it be some idle plan 

O' rhymin' clink 
The devil-haet, that I sud ban. 

They ever think. 

Nae thought, nae view, nae scheme o' livln', 
j Nae cares tae gie us joy or grievin'; 

But just the poucliie put the nieve rn. 
An' while aught's there, 
I Then hiltie, skiltie, we gae scrievin'. 

An' fash nae mair. 

Leeze me on rhyme ! its ay a treasure, 
My chief, amaist my only pleasure, 
At harae, a-fiel', at wark or leisure, 

The Muse, poor hizzie ! 
Tho' rough an' raploch be her measure. 

She's seldom lazy. 

Hand tae the Muse, my daintle Davie t 
The warl' may play you monie a shavjt 
But for the Muse, she'll never leave ye, 

Tho' e'er sae puir, 
Na, even tho' !;mpin wi' the spavie 

Frae door to door. 



CHIEFL Y SCO TTISH, 155 

EPISTLE TO J. LAPRAIK, 

AN OLD SCOTTISH BARD. 

April 1, 1785. 

While briers an' woodbines budding green, 
An' paitricks scraichin loud at e'en, 
An' morning poussie wliiddin seen, 

Inspire my Muse, 
f his freedom in an unknown frien' 

I pray excuse. 

On fasteen-een we had a rockin, 
To ca' the crack and weave our stockio 
And there was muckle I'un an' jokii) 

Ye need na doubt i 
At length we had a hearty yokin 

At sang about. 

There was ae sang^ amang the icwi 
Aboon them a' it pieas'd nie best, 
That some kind Imsband had addresi 

To some sweet wife ; 
It thrill'd tlie heart-strings Uuo' the breasi, 

A' to tlie life. 

t've scarce heard au.-^Iit describe sae wee 
What geu'rous, manly'bosoms feel: 
Thought I, " Can this be Pope, or Steele, 

Or Beattie's wark?" 
They told rae 'twas au odd kind chie! 
About Mairkirk. 

It pat me fidgin-fain to hear't, 
And sae about liira there I spier't. 
Then a' tliat kent him round Jeclar'd 

He had ingine. 
That nane excell'd it, few cam near'l. 

It was sae fine. 

That set him to a pint of ale 
An' either douce or merry taie, 
Of rhymes an' sangs he'd made himsel, 

Or witty catches, 
'Tween Inverness andTiviotdale, 
He had few matches. 

Then up I gat, an' swore an aith, 
Though I should pawn my pleiigh and graith, 



158 POEMS, I 

Or die a cadger-pownie's death, \ \ 

At some dyke-back, i j 

A pint an* gill I'd gie them bailh i j 

To hear your crack. i 

But first an' foremost, I should tell, i i 

Amaist as soon as I could spell, I i 

I to the crambo-jingls fell, ! ! 

Tho' rude an' rough, 1 j 

Yet crooning to a body's sel, I j 

Does weel enough. | ! 

I am nae Poet, in a sense, i j 

But just a Rhymer, like, by chance, ! | 

An' hae to learning nae pretence, ; ! 

Yet what tha matter ? ; ! 

Whene'er my Muse does on me glance, Ij 

I jingle at her. i ] 

Your critic-folk may cock their nose, I ! 

And say, " How can you e'er propose, i | 

You wha ken hardly verse fx^e prose, \ l 

To mak a sa7^^?" i 

But, by your leaves, my learned foes, j j 

Ye' re may be wrang. 1 1 

What's a' your jargon o' your schoolg, 1 1 

Your Latin names for horns an' stools, i 

If honest nature made you fools, i ] 

What sairs your gramraara 1 ! I 

Ye'd better taen up spades and shoola, i | 

Or knappin-hamniers. j j 

A set o' dull, conceited hashes, ' i 

Confuse their brains in college classes ! I j 

They gang in stirks, and come out sume*^ { . 

Plain truth to speak : . ! i 

An' syne tliey think to climb Parnassus \ \ 

By dint o' Greek! ': 

Gie me ae spark o' nature's fire, i ! 

That's a' the learning I desire ; j I 

Then tho' I drudge thro' dub an' mire I ! 

At pleugh or cart, ! I 

My Muse, tho' hamely in attire, 1 1 

May touch the heart i 



O for a spunk o' Mian's glee, 
Or Fergusson's, the bauld and slee. 
Or bright Lapraik's, my friend to be, 

Iflcanhitit! 
That would be lear enough for me. 

If I could get 11 ; 



i 
I 

CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 15? | 

Now, sir, if ye hae friends enow, 
Tho' real friends, I b'lieve are few, 
Yet, if your catalogue be fou, 
I'se no insist, 
But gif ye want a friend that's true, 
I'm on your list. 

I winna blaw about mysel ; 
As ill I like my fauts to tell ; 
But friends and folk that wish me well, 

They sometimes roose me, 
Tho' I maun own, as monie still 

As far abuse me. 

There's ae weefaut they whyles lay to me 
I like the lasses— Gude forgie me ! 
For monie a plack they wheedle frae me 

At dance or fair ; 
May be some ither thing they gie me, 

They weel can spare. 

But Mauchline race, or MaucJdine fair, 
I should be proud to meet you there , 
We'se gie ae night's discharge to care, 

If we forgather, 
An' hae a swap o' rkymin-ware 
Wi' ane anither. 

The four-gill chap, we'se gar him clatter, 

i An' kirsen him wi' reekin water ; 1 

I Syne we'll sit down an' tak our whitter, I i 

To cheer our heart ; j I 

An' faith, we'se be acquainted better i 

Before we part. jj 

Awa, ye selfish, warly race, ! i 

Wha think that havins, sense an' grace, i : 

Ev'n love an' friendship should give place \ \ 

To catch-the-placic ! i I 

I dinna like to see your face, j j 

Nor hear your crack. 

But ye whom social pleasure charms, 
Whose hearts the tide of kindness warms 

Who hold your being on the terms, j 

" Each aid the others !" | 

Come to my bowl, come to my arms, j 

My friends, my bf othem ! ! 



I But, to conclude my laiig epistle, i 

I As my auld pen's worn to the grisale ; j j 

I - il 



! 158 POEMS, 

Tvva lines frae you wad gar me fissle, 
Who am, most fervent, 

While I can either sing or whissle, 

Your friend and servant. 



TO THE SAME. 
^pril 21, 1785. 
While new-ca'd kye rout at the siake 
An' pownies reek in pleugh or braik, 
This hour on e'enin's edge I take, 
To own I'm debtor 
To honest-hearted, auld J.apraik, 
For his kind letter 

Forjesket sair, with weary logs, 
Rattlin the corn out-owre the rigs. 
Or dealing thro' amang tlie naigs 

Their ten-hours bite, 
Rly awkart Muse sair pleads and begs, 

I would na write. 

The tapetless ramfeezl'd hizzie, 
She's saft at best, and something lazy, 
Q,uo' she, " Ye ken we've been sae busy. 

This month an' mair, 
That trouth my head is grown right dizzie, 
And somet]iiug sair." 

Her dowff excuses pat me mad : 
" Conscience," sajs, I, " j'e thov/Iess jad ! 
I'll write, an' that a hearty Maud, 

That vera night ; 
So dinna ye affront your trade, 

But rhyme it right. 

" Shall bauld Lapraik, the king o' hearts, 
rho' mankind were a pack of cartes, 
Roose you sae weel for your deserts, 

In terms sae friendly, 
f et ye'll neglect to show yonr parts, 

And thank hira kindly!" 



Sae I gat paper in a blink, 
An' down gaed stumpie in the ink 
Quoth I, '* Before I sleep a wink, 

I vow I'll close it; 
An' If you winna mak it clink. 

By JoverJlproaett! 



CHIEFL Y SCOTTISH. 139 

Sae I've begun to scrawl, but whether 
In rhyme or prose, or baitli thegither, 
Or some hotch-potch that's rightly neither 

Let time mak proof; 
But I shall scribble down some blether 

Just clean aff-loof. 

My worthy friend, ne'er grudge an' carp 
The' fortune use you hard an' sharp; 
Come, kittle up your mnorland harp 
Wi' gleesome touch : 
Ne'er mind how Fortune iDaft an' warp; 
She's but a b-tch. 

She's glen me monie a jest an' fleg, 
Sin' I could striddle owre a rig ; 
But by the L— d, tho' I should beg 

Wi' lay art pow, 
I'll laugh an' sing, an' 'shake my leg, 

Aa langsl dow! 

Now comes the sax-an'-twentieth simmer 
I've seen the bud ope' the timmer. 
Still persecuted by the limmer 

Frae year to year ; 
But yet, despite tlie kittle kimmer 
J, Rob, am here. 

Do ye envy the city Gent, 
Behind a kist to lie and skient, 
Or purse-proud, big wi' cent, per cent., 

And muckle wane, 
In some bit burgh to represent 

A Bailie's name ! 

Or, is't the paughty, feudal Thane, 
Wi' ruffled sark an' glancing cane, 
Wha thinks himse! nae sheep-shank bane, 

But lordly stalks. 
While caps and bonnets aff are taen. 
As by he wa'ks? 

" O Thou wha gies us each good gift, 
Gle me o' wit an' sense a lift, 
Then turn me, If Thou please, adrift, 

Thro' Scotland wide ; 
Wi' Cits nor Lairds I wadna shift. 

In a' their pride !" 

Were this the charter of our state, 
"On pain of hell be rich an' great," 



160 POEMS, 

Damnation then would he our fate, 

Beyond remead ; 
But thanks to Heav'n ! that's no the gate 

We loam our creed :— 

For thus the royal mandate ran, 
When first the human race began— 
" The social, friendly, honest man, 

Whaie'er he be, 
'Tis he fulfils great J^ature's plan, 

An* none but Ae/" 

O mandate glorious and divine ! 
The ragged followers of the Nine, 
Poor thoughtless devils ! yet may shine 

In glorious light. 
While sordid sons of Mammon's line 
Are dark as night. 

Tho' here they scrape, an' squeeze, an* growl* 
Their worthless neivcfu' of a soul 
May in some future carcass howl, 

The forest fright ; 
Or in some day-detesting owl 

Ma^^ shun the light 

Then may Lapraik and Bums arise, 
To reach their native, kindred skies,^ 
And sing their pleasures, hopes, an' joys, 
In some mild sphere, 
' Still closer knit in friendship's ties. 
Each passing year ! 



TO TV. s*****jr. 

OCHILTREE, MAY, 1785. 

I GAi' your letter, winsome Willie; 
Wi' grateful heart 1 thank you brawtte ; 
Tho' I maun say't, I wad be silly, 

An' unco vain. 
Should I believe, my coaxin billy. 

Your flatt'rin strain. 

But I'se believe ye kindly meant it, 
j I sud be laith to think ye hinted 

Ironic satire, sideling sklented 
1 On my poor Mnsle ; 

' Tho' in ftie phraisin terms ye've penned It, 

' I scarce excuse ye. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 161 

My senses wad be in a creel, 
Bhould I but dare a hope to speel, 
Wi' ^llan, or wi' Gilbertfield, 

The braes o' fame ; 
Or Ftrgusson, the wriler-chiel, 
A deathless name. 

(O Fergusson ! thy glorious parts 
m suited law's dry, musty arts ! 
My curse upon your whunstane hearts, 

Ye E'nburgh gentry ! 
The tithe o' what ye waste at cartes, 

Wad stow'd his pantry !) 

Yet when a tale comes i' my head, 
Or lasses gie ray heart a screed. 
As whyles they're like to be my dead, 

(O sad disease !) 
I tdttle up my rustic reed, 

It gies my ease. 

Auld Ceila now may Mze fu' fain. 
She's gotten Poets o' her ain, 
Cbiels wha their chanters winna hain, 

But tune their lays 
Till echoes a' resound again 

Her weel-sung praise. 

Nae Poet thought her worth his while, 
To set her name In measur'd style ! 
She lay like some unkenn'd-of isle 

Beside JVew- Holland, 
Oi whare wild-meeting oceans boil 

Besoulh Magellan. 

Ramsay an' famous Fergnsson 
Gled Forth an' Ta7j a lift aboon ; 
Tairow an' Tweed, to monie a tune, 

Owre Scotland rings ; 
While Incin, Luffar, Ayr an' Doon, 

Nae body sings. 



Th' niissus, Tiber, Thames an' Seine, \ \ 

Glide sweet in monie a tunefu' line ! ; I 

But, JVillie, set your fit to mine, 

An' cock your crest, 
We'll gar our streams and burnies sliine 
Up wi' the best. 

We'll Ging auld Coila's plains an' fells, 
Hier moors red-brown wi' heather-bells, 



162 POEMS, 

Her banks an' braes, her dens an' dells, 
Where glorious Wallace 

Aft bure the gree, as story teils, 

Frae Southron billies. 

At Wallace's name, wJiat Scottish blood 
But boils up in a spring-tide flood ! 
Oft have our fearless fathers strode 

By Wallace's side. 
Still pressing onward, red-wat shod, 
Or glorious dy'd. 
O sweet are Collars haughs an' woods, 
When lintwhltes chant amang the buds. 
And jirkin bares, in amorous whids, 

Their loves enjoy, 
While thro' the braes the cushat croods 
Wi' wailfu' cry ! 
i I Ev'n winter bleak lias charms to me, 

; When winds rave through the naked tree ; 

j Or frosts on hills of Ochiltree 

\ I • Are hoary gray ; 

i Or blinding drifts wild furious flee, 

j Dark'ning the day! 

i O J\rature! a' thy shews an' forms 

To feeling pensive hearts nae charnns ! 
' Whether the summer kindly warms, 

Wi' life an' light, 
Or winter howls, in gusty storms, 
, The lang, dark night ! 

! i The Muse, nae Poet ever fand her, 

I Till by himself he learn'd to wander, 

■ A down some trotting burn's meander. 

An' no think lang ! 
O sweet, to stray an' pensive ponder 
I A heart-felt sang ! 

i The warly race may drudge an' drive, 

I riog-shoulher, jundie, stretch an' strive, 

i Let me fair J\rature''s fUce descrive, 

And I, wi' pleasure, 
i Shall let the busy, grumbling hive 

! I Bum owre llieir treasure. 

I j Fareweel, " my rhyme-composing britherl*^ 
i I We've been owre lang unkenn'd to ither: 

I I Now let us lay our heads theglther, 
I ! In love fraternal : 

■ I May Envy wallop in a tether, 

Black fiend, infernal ! 



CHIEFL Y SCO TTISU. 163 

While HJghlandmen have tolls an' taxes j 
While moorlan' herds like guid fat braxiefl ; 
While Urrajirma, on her axis 

Diurnal turns, 
Count on a friend in faith an' practice. 

In Robert Bums. 

POSTSCRIPT. 
My mem'ry's no worth a preen ; 
I had amaist forgotten clean, 
Ye bade me write you what they mean 

By this new light,* 
•Bout which our herds sae aft hae heen 

Maisl like to fight. 

In days when mankind were but callana j 

At Grammar, Logic, and sic talents, j 

They took nae pains their speech to balance, ) 

Or rules to gie, 
But spak their thoughts in plain, braid Lallian* 

Like you or me. 
In thae auld times, they tliought the moon, 
Just like sark, or pair o' shoon. 
Wore by degrees, till her last roon, 

Gaed past tlieir viewin'. 
An* shortly after she was done, 

They gat a new one. 
This past for certain, undisputed: 
It ue'er came in their heads to doubt it. 
Till chiels gat up an' wad confute it, 

An' ca'd it wrang ; 
An' muckle din there was about it, 

Baith loud and lang. 
Some herds, wecl leam'd upo' the beuk, 
Wad threap auld folk the thing misteuki 
For 'twas the auld moon turn'd a neuk. 

An' out o' sight. 
An' backlins-comin, to the leuk, 

She grew mair bright. 
This was deny'd, it was affirm'd; 
The herds an' hissles were alarm'd ; 
The rev'rend gray-beards rav'd an' storm d. 

That beardless laddies 
Should think they better were inform'd 

Than their auld daddies. 

• A^ light, a cant phrase in the West of Scottmid for 
Ooae religious opinions which Dr. Taylor of J^orwuJi de- 
faidod so Btrenuoiuly. 



264 POEMS, 

Frae less to mair it gaed to sticks ; 
Frae words an' aiths to blours an' nicks , 
And monie a fallow gat his licks, 

Wi' hearty crunt ; 
An' some, to learn them lor their tricks, 

Were hang'd an' brunt. 

This game was play'd in monie lands, 
An' anld light caddies pure sic hands. 
That, faith"^ the youngsters took the sands 

Wi* nimble shanks, 
The lairds forbade, by strict commands, 
Sic bluidy pranks. 

But new-light herds cat sic a cowe, 
Folk thought tham ruin'd stick an' stowe. 
Till now amaist on ev'ry knowe, 

Ye'll find ane plac'd; 
An' some, their new-light fair avow. 

Just quite barefac'd. 

Nae doubt the auld-light flocks are bleatin ; 
Their zealous herds are vex'd an' sweatin ; 
Myse!, I've even seen them greetin 

Wi' girnin spite. 
To hear the moon sae sadly lied on 

By word an' write. 

But shortly thny wiil cowe the louns; 
Some auld-light herds in neebor towns 
Are mind' t in things they ca' balloons, 

To tak a' flight, 
An' stay ae month amang the moons. 

An' see them right. 

Guld observation they will gie tbem. 
An' when the auld moon's gaun to lea'e them 
The hindmost shaird, tliey'll fetch it wi' thera 

Just i' their pouch, 
An' when the new-light billies see them, 

I think they'll crouch ! 

Sae ye observe that a' this clatter 
Is naething but a "moonshine matter;" 
But Uio' dull prose-folk Latin splatter 

In logic tulzie, 
I hope, we bardies ken some better 

Than mind sic brulzie. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 165 



EPISTLE TO J. R******. 

ENCLOSING SOME POEMS. 

O ROUGH, rude, ready-witted R******, 
Tiie wale o'cocks for fun and drinkin ! 
There's monie godly folks are tliinkin. 

Your dreams* an' tricks 
Will send you, Korah-like, a sinkin, 

Stiaught to auld Nick s. 

Yc hae sae monie cracks an' cants, 
And in your wicked, drucken rants, 
Ye make a devil o' the saunts, 

An' fill them fou ; 
And then their failings, flaws, an' wants. 
Are a' seen thro' 

HsTJOcrisy, in mercy spare it ! 
That holy robe, O dinna tear it ! | 

Spar't for their sakes wha aften wear it, j 

The lads in black ; 
But your curst wit, when it comes near it, 

Rives't aff their back. 

Think, wicked sinner, wha ye're skaithing. 
It's just the blue-gown badge an' claithing 
O' saunts ; tak that, ye lea'e them naething 

To ken them by, 
Frae ony unregenerate heathen 

Like you or I. 

I've sent you here some rhyming ware, 
A' that I bargain'd for, an' mair ; 
Sae, when ye hae an hour to spare, 

I will expect 
Your sang], ye' 11 sen't wi' cannie care 
And no neglect. 

The' faith, sma' heart hae I to sing ! 
My Muse dow scarcely spread her wing ! 
I've play'd mysel a bonie spring. 

An' danc'd my fill ! 
I'd better gaen an' sair'd the king, 
At Bunker's Hill. 



* Jl certain humorous dream of his tots then making a 
noiae in the country-side. 
t A soDff he had promised the Jluthor. 



IB6 POEMS, 

'Twas ae night, lately, in my fun, 
I gaed a roving wi' tlie gun, 
An' brought a partrick to the grun. 

A bonie hen, 
An', as the twilight was begun. 

Thought nane wad ken 

The poor, wee thing was little hurt, 

I straikit it a wee for sport, ; 

Ne'er ihinkin they wad fash me for't, j j 

But dell-ma'-care ' ; ! 

Somebody tells the poacher-court j ■ 

The hale affair. I 



Some auld-us'd hands had taen a note 
That sic a hen had got a shot ; 
I was suspected for the plot ; 

I scorn' d to lie, 
So gat the whissie o' my groat. 
An' pay't the/ec 

But, by my gun, o' guns the wale, 
An' by my pouther an' my hail, 
An' by my hen, an' by her tail, 

I vow an' swear ! 
The game shall pay o'er moor an' dalo 

For this, niest year. 

As soon's the clockin-time is by, 
An' the wee pouts begin to cry, 
L— d, I'se hae sportin by an by, 

For my gowd guinea, 
Tho' I should herd the buckskin kyo 

For't in Virginia. 

Trowth, they had muckle for to blamt * 
'Twas neither broken wing nor limb, 
But twa-three draps about tlie wame 

Scarce thro' the feathewj 
An' baith a yellow George to claim, 

An' thole their bletheW 

It pits me ay as mad's a hare ; 
Sg I can rhyme nor write nae raairt 
l^ut pennyworths again is fair. 

When time's expedient i 
Meanwhile, I am, respected sir, 

Your most obedient 



i; 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 167 

TO DR. BLACKLOCK. 

Ellisland, Oct. 21 1789. 

Wow, but your letter made me vauntie ! 
And are ye hale, and wee!, and cantie 1 
I kenn'd it still your wee bit jauntie 

Wad bring ye to : 
Lord send ye ay as weel's 1 want ye. 
And then ye' 11 do. 

The ill-thief blaw the Heron* south ! 
And never drink be near his drouth ! 
He tald mysel by word o' mouth, 

He'd tak my letter ; 
I lippen'd to the chiel in trouth 

And bade nae better. 

But aiblina honest blaster Heron 
Had at tlie time some dainty fau: one, 
To ware his theologic care on, 
And holy stuviy , 
And tir'd o' sauls to waste his lear on. 
E'en tried the body. 

But what d'ye think, my trusty tier, 
I'm tum'd a gausrer— peace be here I 
Parnassau queeiis, I fear, I fear 

Ye'll now disdain mc, 
And then my fifty pounds a-year 

Will little gain me. 

Ye glaikit, gleesome, daintie damies 
Wha by Castalia's wimplin streamies, 
Lowp.sing, and lave your pretty limbics 

Ye ken, ye ken. 
That Strang necessity si-prcnfe is 

'Mang sons o' men. 

I hae a wife an' twa wee laddies, 
They maun hae brose and brats o' duddi^ . 
Ye ken yourseis my heart right proud is, 

I need na vaunt. 
But I'll Bned besoms— thraw saugh woodlee, 
Before they want. 

• Mr. Heron, author of a History of Scotland, arUt 
various other works 



168 POEMS, 

Lord help me tbro' this warld o' care! 
I'm weary sick o't late and air ! 
Not but I liae a richer share 

Than mony ithers : 
But why should ae man better fare, 
And a' men brithersi 

Come, Firm Resolve, take tliou the van, 
Thou stalk o' carl-hump in man ! 
And let us mind, faint heart ne'er wan 

A lady fair ; 
Wha does the utmost that he can. 
Will whyles do mair. 

But to conclude my silly rhyme, 
(I'm scant o' verse, and scant o' Ume,) 
"To make a happy tire-side clime 

To weans and wife. 
That's the true pathos and sublime 
I Of human life. 

My compliments t6 sister Beckie ; 
And eke the same to honest Lucky, 
I wat she is a dainty chuckie, 

As e'er tread clay! 
An' gratefully, my guid auld cockie, 
I'm yours for ay- 

ROBERT BURNS. 



TO COLOJSTEL DE PEYSTER 

DUMFRIES, 1796. 

My honour'd Colonel, deep I feel 
Your interest in the Poet's weal ; 
Ah ! now sma' heart hae I to speel 

The steep Parnassus, 
Surrounded tlius by bolus pill, 

And potion glasses. 

O what a canty warld were it. 
Would pain, and care, and sickness spare It j 
And fortune favour worth and merit. 

As they deserve: 
(And aye a rowih, roast-beef and claret; 

Syne wha wad starve 1) 



I . CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 169 

j Dame Life, tho' fiction out may trick her 

! And in paste gems and frippery deck her: 

! Oh ! flickering, feeble, and unsicker 

i I've found her still, 

j Ay wavering hke the willow wicker, 

'Tween good and ill. 

Then that curst carmagnole, auld Satan, 
Watches, like baudrans by a rattan, 
I Our siufu' saul to get a claut on 

I Wi' felon ire ; 

{ Syne, whip ! his tail ye'll ne'er cast saut on, 

i He's aff like fire. 



j ' Ah! Nick ! ah Nick 1 it is na fair, 

: ' First showing us the tempting ware, 

j Bright wines and bonie lasses rare, 

To put us daft; 
I Syne weave, unseen, thy spider snare, 

O' hell's damu'd waft. 

Poor man the fiie, aft bizzics by. 
And aft as chance he comes thee nigh, 
Thy auld damn'd elbow yeuks wi' joy, 
j And hellish pleasure ; 

j Already in thy fancy's eye, 

i Thy sir.ker treasure. 

[ Soon heels o'er gowdie I in he gangs, 

And like a sheep-head on a tangs, 
I They girning laugh enjoy his pangs 

I And murdering wrestle, 

j As dangling in the wind, he hangs, 

I A gibbet's tassel. 

j But lest you think I am uncivil, 

I To plague you with this draunting ds ivol , 

Abjuring a' intentions evil, 
\ Iquatmypen: 

The Lord preserve us frae the devil ! 
■■ Amen ! Amen ! 



TO MR. MITCHELL, 

COLLECTOR OF EXCISE, DUMFRIES, 1796, 

Friend of the Poet, tried and leal, 
Wha wanting thee might beg or steal ; 
Vox.. T. M 



170 POEMS, 

Alake, alalic, tho meikle dcil 

Wi' a' his witches 
Are at it, skelpiu ! jig and re«l, 

la my poor pouciiea. 

I modestly, fti' fain wad hint it, 
That one pound oiis, I saivly want it ; 
If wi' the hizzie dov.'n ye sent it, 

It would he kind ; 
And while my heart wi' life-blood dunted, 

rd bear't in mind- 
So may the auld year gang out moaning 
To see the new come laden, groaning, 
Wi' double plenly o'er the loaning 

To thoe and thine ; 
nomestic peace and comforts crowning 

The hale design. 

POSTSCRIPT. 
Ye've heard this while how I've been hcket. 
And by fell deatli was nearly nickel ; 
Grim louu ! he gai ine by the fecket, 

And sair me sheuk ; 
But by good luck, 1 lap a wicket. 

And luru'd a neuk. 

But by llial hea'.TlK I've got a share o't,- 
A. id by that life, I'm promis'd mair o't, 
My liale and weel I'll take a care o't, 

A teiUier way ; 
Tlien farewoel, folly, iiide and hair o't, 
or ance and aye. 



LETTER 

TO J S T T GL— NC—R- 

AiTLD comrade dear and brither sinner. 
How's a' the folk about Gl — nc— r1 
How do you this blae eastlin wind, 
That's like to blaw a body blind 1 
For me, niv faculties are frozen, 
My dearest member nearly do/.en'd: 
V w cent you here my Johnnie Sinison, 
Twa suge' philosophers to glimpse on; 
Fmith, wi' his Fvmpathetic feeling, 
, ..I jveid to coiinnon scnsj appealing, 



CHIEFL Y SCO TTISIL 

Pbilosophei-s have fought an' wrangled, 
And nieikle Greek an' Latin mangled, 
Till wi' their logic-jargon tir'd, 
An' in the depth of science mir'd, 
To common sense they now appeal, 
What wives and wabsters see an' feel: 
But hark ve, Iriend, 1 charge you strictly, 
Peruse lli'em an* return them quickly ; 
For now I'm grown sae cursed douce, 
1 ])ray au' ponder iuti the house. 
My sliins, my lane, I there sit roastin. 
Perusing Bunyan, Brown, and Boston ; 
Till by an' by, if I hand on, 
ril grunt a real Gospel groan ; 
Already I begin to try it, 
To cast mv een up like a pyet, 
When by the gun she tumbles o'er, 
Flutl'ring an' gasping in her gore: 
Sae shortly you shall see me bright, 
A burning an' a shining light. 

My heart-warm love to guid auld Glen, 
The ace an' wale of honest men ; 
When bendins down with auld gray hairs. 
Beneath the load of years and cares, 
May lie who made him still support him. 
An' views beyond the grave comfort him. 
His worthy family far and near, 
God bless them a' wi' grace and gear. 

My auld school-fellow. Preacher Willie, 
The manly tar, my mason Dillie, 
An' Auch.enbay, I wish him joy ; 
If he's a parent, lass or boy, 
May he be dad, and Meg the milher. 
Just five-an'-forty years thegiiher ! 
An' no forgettino wabster Charlie, 
I'm tauld he offers very fairly. 
An' L— d remember singing Sannock, 
Wi' hale breeks, saxpence an' a bannock 
And next, my auld acquaintance, Nancy, 
Since she is fitted to her fancy ; 
An' her kind stars hae airted till her 
A guid chiel v.'i' a pickle siller. 
My kindest, best respects I sen' it, 
To cousin Kate, an' sister .Janet; 
Tell them fiae me., wi' chiels be cautious. 
For faith, th-^y'll aiblins fin' tiiem fashions ■ 
To grant a Ijeart is fairly civil 



172 POEMS, 

But to grant a maidenhead's the devil ! 
An' lastly, Jamie, for yoursel, 
May guardian angels tak a spell, 
An steer you seven miles south o' hell: 
But first, before you see heav'n's glory, 
May ye get monie a merry story, 
Monie a laugh and monie a drink, 
An' ay enough o' needfu' clink. 

Now fare ye weel, an' joy be wi' you, 
For my sake this I beg it o' you, 
Assist poor Simson a' ye can, 
Yc'll fin' him just an honest man; 
Sae I conclude and quat my chanter, 

Your's, saint or sinner, 

ROB THE RANTER. 



TO THE QUID WIFE OF WAUCHOPE-HOUSE \\ 

IN ANSWER TO A.N EPISTLE WHICH SHE HAD SENT THE . i 

AUTHOR. : I 

II 

Ouidwife, i ; 

I MIND it weel in early date, | j 

When I was beardless, young, and blate, : 

And first could thresh the barn ; j ! 

Or hand a yokin at the pleugh ; ^ } 

An' tho' for foughten sair enough, | 

Yet unco proud to learn : i i 

When first amang the yellow corn j I 

A man I reckon' d was, , j 

And wi' the lave ilk merry mom, i 

Could rank my rig and lass, ; j 

Still shearing, and clearing : i 

T.le tither stooked raw, ;_i 

Wi' claivers, an' haivers, ] j 

Wearing the day awa. i 

n. 'i 

Ev'n then, a wish, I mind it's pow'r, ' i 

A wish that to my latest hour, ' i 

Shall strongly heave my breast, > 
That I for poor auld Scotland's sake 

Some uspfu' plan or book could make, , 

< )>■ sing a sang at least. i 



!| CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 173 

! ; The rough burr-thistle, spreading wide [ 

j ' Anians; the bearded bear, j 

I ! I turu'd the weeder-clips aside, ' j 

1 1 An' spar'd tiie pyinbol dear; I •■ 

1 1 No nation, no station, jl 

■ I JSIy envj' e'er could rjiise, I ( 

A Scot still, but blot still, 1 1 

I I knew nae iiigher praise. \ j 

! i ill- ' ' 

I ; But still the elements o' sang, \ 

\ I In formless jumble, right an' wrang, 

' Wild floated in my brain ; i : 

; Till on that har'st I said before, , 

! Wy partner in tlie niciry core, 

Slie rous'd tlie forming strain ^ | : 

I see her yet, tlse sonsie quean. 
That lighted up her jingle. 

Her witching smile, hor pauky e'en, 
; That gar't my lieart-stiings tingle; 

■ I fired, inspired, 

At every kindling keek, 
I But bashing, and dashing, 

1 I feared ay to speak. 

IV. 

Hail to the set, ilk guid cliici says, 

Wi' merry dance in winter-days, i 

An' we to share in ronnnon ; 
i ; The gust o' jov, tJie balm o' wo, 

I i The saul o' life, the heav'n below, 

ij la raplure-giving woman. 

Ye surly sninphs, who hate the name, 

Be mindfu' o' your miiher ; 
She, honest woman, may think shame 
"That ye' re connected with her ; 
! Ye're wae men, ye're nae men, : ; 

That slight the lovely dears ; ! \ 

I To sliame ye, disclaim ye, ; 

I Ilk honest birkie swears- i , 



For you, na bred to barn or byre, 
Wha sweetly tune tlie Scottish lyre. 

Thanks to you for your line. 
The marled plaid ye kindly spare 
By me should gratefully be waf« 

'Twad nlease n^e to the Nine. 



TIA POEMS, 

Vd be mair vauntie o' my hap, 

Douse hinging o'er my curple, 
Than onie ermine ever lap, 
Or proud imperial purple. 
Fareweel then, lang hale then, 

An' plenty be your fa' : 
May losses and crosses 
Ne'er at your hallan ca*. 
JUarch, 1787. R. BURNS. 



TO J. RAJTKEJT, 

ON HIS WRITING TO THE AUTHOR THAT A OIRIi WAS WITH 
CHILD BY HIM. 



I AM a keeper of tlie law i 

In some sina' points, altho' not a' ; j ' 

Some people tell me gin I fa', i j 

Ao way or ither, ! j 

The breaking of ae point, tho' Bma\ ! i 

Breaks a' thegither. \ \ 

I hae been in for't ance or twice, ' i 

And winna say o'er far for thrice, j 

Yet never met with that surprise ' \ 

That broke my rest, ■ \ 

But now a rumour's like to rise, i j 

A whaup's i' the nest. r 



ADDRES j 

TO AN ILLEQITIMATE CHILD. 

Thou's welcome, wean, miBhanterf^ me, 
If aught of thee, or of thy mammy, 
Shall ^!vor danton me, or awe me, 

My sweet wee lady. 
Or if I blush when thou shalt ca* me 

Tit-ta or daddy 

Wee imase of my bonie Betty, ! ' 

I fafhnrly will kiss an' daut thee, ' I 

As dear an' near my heart I set Uiee j 

Wi' as gude will j j 

As a' the priests had seen me get tbee • 

That's out o' h-U. i 



i CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. ITS 

i ! What tho' they ca' me fornicator, I ! 

! i An' tease my name in kintry-clatter ; i 

I ; The mair they tauk I'm keiit the better, . ' 

1 1 E'en let them clash ; I i 

I ■ An auld wife's tongue's a feckless matter ! 

! j To gie ane fash. 

i I Sweet fruit o' monie a merry dint, | 

I i My funny tiel is now a' tint, j 

i ; Sin' thou came to the warl asklent, • i 

r Which fools may scoff at; j 

: In my last plack thy part's be in't— 

I The better half o't. ! 

j : An* if thou be what I wad hae thee, ■ ! i 

; An' tak the counsel I shall gie thee, j 

! A levin father I'll be to thee, ' j 

! If thou be spar' d ji 

j Thro' a' thy childish years I'll e'e thee, \l 

I An' think't weel war'd. j j 

I \ Gude grant that thou may ay inherit \ \ 

Thy mither's person, grace, an' merit, i \ 

i An' thy poor worthless daddy's spirit, i j 

' ' Without his failins, | ' 

'Twill please me mair to hear an' see't, | \ 

\ Than stocket mailing. ' i ; 



TO Ji TAILOR, 



TO AN EPISTLE WHICH HE HAD SENT ' 
AUTHOR. 

What ails ye now, ye lousie Ij — h. 
To thresh my back at sic a pitch 1 
Loflh man ! hae mercy wi' your natch, 

Your bodkin's bauld, 
I did na suffer half sae much 
Frae daddy Auld. 

What the' at times when I grow crouse, 
I gie their wames a random pouse, 
Is that enough for you to souse 
Your servant sae 1 
Oae mind your seam, ye prick the louse, 
An' jag the flae. 



176 POEMS, 

King David o' poetic brief, 
Wrought 'raang the lasses sic mischief 
As fiU'd his after life wi' grief 
An' bloody rants, 
An' yet he's rank'd amang the chief 

lang pyne saunts. 

And, may be. Tarn, for a' my canta, 
My wicked rhymes, an' drucken rantSt 
I'll gie auld cloven Clooty's haunts 

An unco slip yet, 
An' snugly sit amang the saunta, 

At Davie's hip yet. 

But fegs, the session says I maun 
Gae fa' upo' aniiher plan, 
Than garren lasses covvp the cran 

Clean heels ovvre body, 
And sairly thole their miihers' ban 

Afore the howdy. 

This leads me on, to tell for sport 
How I did with the session sort— 
Auld Clinkum at the inner port 

Cry'd three times, " Robin ! 
Come hither, lad, an' answer for't, 

Ye're blam'd for jobbin." 

Wi' pinch I put a Sunday's face on, 
An' snoov'd awa' before the session — 
I made an open, fair confession, 

1 scorn'd to lie ; 

An' syne Mess John, beyond expression, 
Fell foul o" me. 

A fornicator loun he call'd me, 
An' said my faut frae bliss expell'd me; 
I own'd the tale was true he tell'd me, 
" But what the matter," 
Quo' I, " I fear unless ye geld mo-, 
I'll ne'er be better.' 

" Geld you !" quo' he, "and whatfore no. 
If that your right hand, leg or toe. 
Should ever prove your sp'ritual foe. 
You shou'd remember 
T<) cut it aflf, and whatfore no 

Your dearest member." 

•'Na, Na," quo' I, '' I'm no for that. 
Gelding's nae better than 'tis ca't, 



CHIE FLY SCO TTISH. IT? i 

I'd rather suffer for my faut, ' 

A hearty flewit \ 

Aa Bair owre hip as ye can araw't ! ' I 

Tho' I should rue it. j 1 

" Or ein ye like to end the bother ; i 

To please us a' I've just ae ither, i 

When next wi' yon lass I forgather { 

VVhate'cr betidelt, ■ \ 

I'll frankly gie her't a' thegither, | 

An' let her guide it." J 

But, Sir, this pleas'd them warst ava, |( 

An' therefore, Tam, when that I saw, ; j 

I said " Gude night," and cam awa', i i 

An' left the session ; ; 

I saw they were resolved a' 1 

On my oppression. 



TO MR. WILLIAM TYTLER. 

WITH A PORTRAIT OF THE AUTHOR. 7,— 

11 



Rbvkred defender of beauteous Stuart, j i 

Of Stuart, a name once respected, j i 

A nnme, which to love was the mark of a true heart, ! j 
But now 'tis despised and neglected. 

The' something like moisture conglobes in my eye, 

Let no one misdeem me disloyal ; 
A poor friendless wanderer may well claim a sigh, 

Still more, if that wand'rer were royal. 

My fathers that name have rever'd on a throne; 

My fathers have fallen to right it; 
Those fathers would spurn their degenerate BOlt| 

That name should he scoffingly slight it. 

Still in prayers for K— G— T most heartily jofai, 

The Q— , and the rest of tlie gentry, 
Be they wise, be they fooMsh, is nothing of mine; 

Their title's avow'd ty my country. 

But why of this epocha make such a fuss, 



178 POEMS, 

But loyalty, truce ! we're on dangerous ground, 

Who knows how the fashions may allor 1 
The doctrine to-day that is loyahy sound, 
To-morrow may bring us a halter. 

1 send you a trifle, a head of a bard, 

A trifle t:carce worthy your care. 
But accept it, good sir, as a marit of regard, 

Sincere as a saiui"-^ dying prayi.-r. 

Now hfe's cliilly evening dhn sliadcs on your eye, 

And ushers the long dreary nigh.t ; 
But you, like the star iliat athwart gilds the sky, 

Your course to the latest is hriglu. 



KPISTLR 

TO R. GRAHAJNt, ESQ. 07 nSTTR.V. 

WiiisN Nature her great niasterpiece design'd, 
And fram'd her last, best work, the human mind, 
Her eye intent on all the mazy plan, 
She form'd of various parts tiie various man. 

Then first slie calls the useful many forth ; 
Plain, plodiling industry, and sober wottli ; 
Thence peasants, farmers, native sous of earth, 
And merchandise, whole genus take their blrtJi ; 
Each prudent cit a warm existence finds, 
And all mechanics' many aprou'd kinds. 
Some otlier rarer sorts are wanted yet, 
The lead and buoy are needful to the net ; 
The caput mortuuin of gross desires 
Makes a material for mere knights and squires ; 
The martial phosphorus is taught to flow, 
She kneads the lumpish, pliilosopliic dough, 
Then marks th' unyielding mass with grave dceigoB 
Law, physics, politics, and deep tiivine? ; 
Last she "sublimes the Aurora of the poles, 
The flashing elements of female souls. 

The order'd system fair before her stood, 
Nature, weM pleas'd, pronounced it very good; 
But ere she save creatine; ialiour o'er, 
Half jest, she tried one curioua labour more 
Some spumy, fiery, ignis fatuus matter ; 
Such as the slightest breath of air might ecsttei ; 
With arch alacrity ?<nd consciouegiee 



CIIIEFL YSCO rriSH. 179 

(Nature muy Jiave lier vvliiin as well as we, 
Her Hogarth-art perhaps she meant to show it,) 
She forms the thlnj?, and christens it — a poet. 
Creature, though oft the prey of care and sorrow, 
When blest to-day unmindful of to-morrow. 
A being form'd to amuse liis graver friends, 
Admir'd and jjrais'd — and there the homage endsj 
A mortal quite unfit for fortune's strife, 
Yet oft the sport of all the ills of life ; 
Prone to enjoy each pleasure riches give, 
Yet haply wanting wherewithal to live ; 
Longing to wipe each tear, to heal each groan, 
Yet frequent all unheeded in his own. 

But honest Nature is not quite a Turk, 
She laugh'd at first, then felt for her poor work, 
Pitying the propless climber of mankind, 
She cast about a standard-tree to find ; 
And, to support his helpless woodbine state,. 
Attach'd liim to the generous, truly great, 
A title, and the only one I claim, 
To lay strong hold for help on bounteous Graham. 

Pity the tuneful Muses' hapless train. 
Weak, timid landmen on life's stormy main ! 
Their hearts no selfish, stern, absorbent stuff, 
That neither gives — though Immbly takes enough 
The little fate allows, they share as soon. 
Unlike sage, proverb'd Wisdom's hard-wrung boon. 
The world were bless'd did bliss on them depend. 
Ah ! that " the friendly e'er should want a friend ! " 
Let prudence number o'er each sturdy son. 
Who life and wisdom at one race begun, 
Who feel by reason, and who give by rule, 
(Instinct's a brute, and sentiment a fool !) 
Who make poor will do wait upon I should — 
We own they're prudent, but who feels they're good? 
Ye wise ones, hence ! ye hurt the social eye ! 
God's image rudely etcli'd on base alloy! 
But come ye who the godlike pleasure know. 
Heaven's attribute distinguish'd — to bestow ! 
Whose arms of love would grasp the human race 3 
Come thou who giv'st with all a courtier's grace j 
Friend of my life, true patron of my rhymes ! 
Prop of my dearest hope for future times. 
Why shrinks my soul half-blushing, half-afraid, 
Backward, abashed to aslc thy friendly aid? 
I know my need, I know thy giving liand, 
I crave thy friendship aC tljykind command ; 



IBO POEjMS, 

But there are such wlio court the tuneful nine- 
Heavens ! should the branded character be mine, 
Whose verse in manhood's pride sublimely flows, 
Yet vilest reptiles in their begging prose, 
Mark, how their lofty, independent spirit 
Soars on the spurning wing of injured merit! 
Seek not the proofs in private life to find ! 
Pity, the best of words should be but wind! 
So to heaven's gates the lark's shrill song ascends, 
But grovelling on the earth the carol ends. 
In all the clamorous cry of starving want. 
They dun benevolence with shameful front ; 
Oblige them, patronise their tinsel lays, 
They persecute you all your future days! 
Ere my poor soul such deep damnation stain, 
My horny fist assume the plough again ; 
The piebald jacket let me patch once more ; 
On eighteen pence a week I've liv'd before. 
Though thanks to heaven, I dare even that last shift ; 
I trust, meantime, my boon is in thy gift ; 
That placed by thee upon the wished-for height, 
Where, Man and Nature fairer in lier sight, 
My Muse may imp her wing for some subliiner flight 



v^ 



TO THE SJIME. 

Late crippled of an arm, and now a leg, 
About to beg a pass for leave to beg^ 
Dull, listless, teased, dejected and deprest, 
(Nature is adverse to a cripple's rest.) 
Will generous Graham list to his Poet's wall 1 
(It sooths poor Misery hearkening to her tale) 
And hear him curse the light he first surveyed, 
And doubly curse the luckless, rhyming trade ! 

Thou, Nature, partial Nature, I arraign ; 
Of thy caprice maternal I complain. 
The lion and the bull thy care have found, 
One shakes the forest, and one spurns the ground ; 
Thou gi'st the ass his hide, tlie snail his shell, 
Th' envenom'd wasp, victorious, guards bis celL 
Thy minions, kings, defend, control, devour 
In all th' omnipotence of rule and power. 
Poxes and statesmen, subtle wiles insiue ; 
The cit and polecat stink, and are secure. 
Toads with then: poison, doctors with their drag, 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 181 

The priest and hedgehog in tlieir robes are snug. ] I 

Ev'n fliUy woman has her warlike arts, i ; 

Her tongue and eyes, her dreaded spear and darts. ! i 

But oh ! the bitter step-mother, and hard, 
To thy poor fenceless, naked child— the Bard, 

A thing unteachable in world's skill, : 

And half an idiot loo, more helpless still. I 

No heels to bear iiim from the op'ning dun ; i 

No claws to dig, his hated sight to shun ; \ 

No horns, but those by luckless Hymen worn, i 

And those, alas ! not Amalthea's liorns: j 

No nerves olfact'ry, Mammon's trusty cur. 

Clad in rich dulnoss, comfortable fur, ' i ■ 

In naked feeling, and in aching pride. 

He bears th' unbroken blast from ev'ry side ; ' 

Vampyre booksellers drain him to the "heart, I i 

And scorpion critics cureless venom dart. ' 

Critics — appall'd I venture on tlie name, 
Those cut-throat bandits in the paths of fame : j 

Bloody dissectors, worse than ten Monroes ; 
He hacks to teach, tliey mangle to expose. 

His heart by causeless, wanton malice wrung, 
By blockheads' daring into madness stung ; i , 

His well-won bays, than life itself more dear, j ' 

By miscreants torn, who ne'er one sprig must wear ; ; ' 

Foil'd, bleeding, tortur'd in the unequal strife, 
The hapless Poet flounders on thro' life, 
Till fled each Ijope that once liis bosom fir'd, 
And fled each Muse that glorious once inspir'd,. 
Low sunk in squalid, unprotected age, ' 

Dead, even resentment, for his injur'd page. 
He heeds or feels no more the rutliJess critic's rage I | 

So, by some hedge, the generous steed deceas'd, ! 

For half-starv'd snarling curs a dainty feast ; ' 
By toil and famine wore to skin and bone. 

Lie senseless of each tuggin bitch's son. I 

O Dulness ! portion of the truly blest ; i 
Calm shelter'd haven of eternal rest ! 

Thy sons ne'er madden iu the fierce extremes 1 ■ 

Of Fortune's polar frost, or torrid beams. I \ 

If mantling high she fills the golden cup, | i 

With sober, selfish ease they sip it up ; i ; 

Conscious the bounteous meed they well deserve, ! 

They only wonder '-some folks" dc not starve. i , 

The grave sage hem thus easy picks hia frog, 1 1 



POEMSf 

And thinks the mallard a sad, worthless dog. 
When disappointment snaps the clue of hope, 
And thro' disastrous night they darkling grope, 
With deaf endurance sluggishly they bear, 
And just conclude that " tools are Fortune's care.** 
So, heavy, passive to the tempest's shocks, 
Strong on the sign-post stands the stupid ox. 

Not so the idle Muses, mad-cap train. 
Not such the workings of tlieir moon-struck bndn; 
In equanimity they never dwell, ; 

By turns in soaring heav'n or vaulted hell. 

I dread thee, Fate, relentless and severe, 
With all a Poet's, Husband's, Father's fear ! 
Already one strong hold of hope is lost, 
Glencairn, the truly noble, lies in dust ; 
(Fled, like the sun eclips'd at noon appears, 
And left us darkling in a world of tears ;) 
O ! hear my ardent, grateful, selfish pray'r I 
FiNTRA, my other stay, long bless and spare ! 
Thro' a long life his hopes and wishes crown ; 
And bright in cloudless skies his sun go down ! 
May bliss domestic smooth his private path ; 
Give energy to life, and sooth his latest breath, 
With many a filial tear circling the bed of deatb. 



TO THE SAME, 

ON RECEIVING A FAVOUR. I j 

I CALL no goddess to inspire my strains, 1 ! 

A fabled Muse may suit a bard that feigns ; ] I 

Friend of my life ! my ardent spirit bums, j j 

And all the tribute of my heart returns, j I 

For boons accorded, goodness ever nem i ] 

The gift still dearer, as the giver you. " j j 

Thou orb of day, thou other paler light ! i 

And all ye many sparkling stars of night ; j 

If aught that giver from my mind efface ; ! 

If I that giver's bounty e'er disgrace ; I ! 
Then roll to me, along your wandering spheres, _ ! j 
Only to number out a villain's yearsl 



! CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 

j! TO A GENTLEMAN 

! : WHOM THE AUTHOR HAD OFFENDED. 

! : Th« friend whom wild from wisdom's way 

! i The fumea of wine infuriate send ; 
(Not moony madness more astray ;) 

; ; Who but deplores that hapless friend 1 

i I Mine was the insensate frenzied part. 



Ah why should I sucli scenes outlive ? 
Scenes so abhorrent to my heart ! 
'Tis tliine to pity and forgive. 



TO A OEJfTLEMJlJf 

HAD SENT HIM A NEWSPAPER, AND OFFKRED ' 
CONTINUE IT FREE OF EXPENSE. 

Kind Sir, I've read your paper through, 

And faith, to nie, 'twas really neAV ! 

How guess'd ye, Sir, what maist I wanted 1 

This monie a day I've grain'd and gaunted, 

To ken what French mischief was brewin ; 

Or what the drumblie Dutch were doing; 

That vile doup-skelper, Emperor Joseph, 

If Venus yet had got his nose off; 

Or how the collieshangie works 

Alween the Russians and the Turks 

Or if the Swede, before he halt. 

Would play anither Charles the Twalt; 

If Denmark, any body spak o't; 

Or Poland, wha had now the tack o't ; 

How cut-throat Prussian blades were hingin, 

How libbet Italy was singin ; 

If Spaniard, Portuguese, or Swiss, 

Where sayin or takin aught amiss 

Or how our merry lads at hame. 

In Britain's court kept up the game, 

How royal George, the Lord leuk o'er hira 

Was managing St. Stephen's quorum ; 

If sleekit Chatham Will was livin, 

Or glaikit Charlie got liis nieve in ; 

How daddie Burke the plea was cookin, 

If Warren Hastings' neck was yeukin; 

flow cesses, stents, and fens were rax'd, 



184 POEMS, 

Or if bare a— sea yet were tax'd ; 
The news o' princes, dukes, and earl% 
Pimps, sliarpers, bawds, and opera-girts; 
If that daft buckle, Geordie W***s, 
Was threshin still at Iiissies' tails, 
Or if lie has {iiowu oughtlins douser, 
And no a perfect liintra cooser, 
A' this and mair 1 never iieard of; 
And but for you I might despair'd of 
So, gratefu', back your news I send you. 
And pray, a' guid tilings may attend you ! 
FJlisland, ITUO. 



SKETCH, 

TO MRS. DUNLOr, ON A NEW YEAR'S DAT. 

Tins day, Time wrnds the exhausted chain, 

To run the twelvemonth's length again ; 

I see the auld bauld-pated fellow. 

With ardent eyes, complexion sallow, 

Adjust the unirapair'd machine, ; 

To wheel the equal, dull routine. ! 

The absent lover, minor heir, > | 

In vain assail him v/ith their prayer ; 1 1 

Deaf as my friend, he sees them press, ; i 

Nor makes the hour one moment less. \ \ 

Will you (the Major's with the hounds, | j 

The happy tenants share his rounds ; i | 

Coila's fair Rachel's care to-day, : I 

And blooming Keith's engaged with Gray) | 

From housewife cares a minute borrow — 

That grandchild's cap will do to-morrow— ' 

And join with me a moralizing. 
This day's propitious to be wise in. 
First, what did yesternight deliver 1 
*' Another year is gone lor ever." 
And what is this day's strong suggestion, 
" The passing moment's all we rest on !" 
Rest on — for what do we here t 
Or why regard the passing year ? 
Will time, anius'd with proverb'd lore, 
Add to our date one minute more ? 
A few days may— a few years must- 
Repose us in the silent dust. 



CHIEFL Y SCO TTISH. 185 

Then is it wise to damp our bliss *? 

Yes— all such reasonings are amiss I 

The voice of nature loudly cries, 

And many a message from the skies, 
! That something in us never dies : 

i i That on this frail, uncertain state, 

I j Hang matters of eternal weight ; 

! i That future life, in worlds unknown, 

I ' Must take its h''e from this alone ; 

Whether as heavenly glory bright, 

Or dark as misery's woful night.— 

Since then, my honour'd, first of friends, 

On this poor being all depends ; 

Let us tlie important now employ, 

And live as those that never die. 

Tho' you, with days and honours crown'd, 

Witness that filial cucle round, 

(A sight life's sorrows to repulse, 

A sight pale envy ixj convulse,) 
i Others now claim your chief regard ; 

• '' Youreelf, you wait your bright reward. 



THE AULD FARMER'S 
nWTBAR MORNING SALUTATION TO HIS AULD MARK, UAGOU, 

On eiving her the accustomed rip of com to hansel 

j in the Kew Year. 

\ A ouiD NEW YEAR I wisli thee, Maggie ! 

! Hae, there's a rin to thy auld baggie : 

' ' Tho' thou's howe-backit, now, an' knaggle, 

I I've seen the day 

1 Thou could hae gaen like onie staggie 

I ' Out-owre the lay. 

■ i Tho' now thou's dowie, stiff, an' crazy, 

i ■■ An' thy auld hide's as white's a daisy, 

1 1 I've seen thee dappl'd, sleek and glaizie, 

;; Aboniegray; . 

• He should been tight that daur't to raut thee 

I Ance in a day. 

I ; Thou ance was i' the foremost rank, 

i : A «?v, buirdly, steeve an' swank, 

'; ' An' set weel down a shapeless shank, 
As e'er tread yird. 
An' could hae flewn out-owre a stank, 

i Like onie bird. 

Vol. I. N 



POEMS, 

It's now some nine-an'-twcnty yews 
Sin' thou was my guid father's mtere; 
He gied me thee, o' tocher clear, 

An' fifty mark ; 
Tho' It was snia' 'twas weel-won gear, 

An' thou was etark. 

When first I gaed to woo my Jenny, 
Ye then was trottin wi' your niinnle ; 
Though ye was trickle, slee, an' funnie, 

Ye ne'er was donsie ; 
But hamely, tawie, quiet, an' cannie, 

An' unco sonsie. 

That day, ye pranced wi' muckle pride, 
When ye bure hame ray bonie bride; 
An' sweet an' gracefu' she did ride, 

Wi' maiden air ! 
Kyle Stewart I could braggead wide, 
For sic a pair. 

Though now ye dow but lioyte and hobble, 
An' wintle like a saumont cobble. 
That day ye vvss a jinker noble, 

For heels an' win' ! 
An' ran them till they a' did wauble, 

Far, far behin'. 

When thou an' I were young an' skeigh, 
An' stable meals at fair were dreigh, 
How thou wad prance, an' snore, an' skreigb. 

An' tak the road ! 
Town's bodies ran, and stood abeigh, 
An' ca't thee mad. 

When thou was corn't, an' I was mellow. 
We took the road ay like a swallow ; 
At Brooses thou had ne'er a fellow, 

For pith an' speed ; 
But ev'ry tale thou pay't them hollow 

Where'er thou gaed. 

The sma', droop-rumpl't, hunter-cattle. 
Might aiblins waur't thee for a brattle; 
But sax Scotch miles, thou try't their mettle 

An' gar't them whalzlej 
Nae whip nor spur, but just a wattle 

O' saugh or hazel. 

Thou was a noble ^«j*-Zan', 
As e'er in tug or tow was drawn ! 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 187 

AA tlioe an' I, in anght hours gaun, 

On guid March-weather, 
Hae turu'd sax rood beside our han' 
, For days ihegillier. 

Thou never braindg't, an' fech't, an' fliskit, 
I But thy auld tail thou wad liae whiskit, 

An' spread abreed tliy weei-fiU'd brisket, 
I Wi' i)ith and pow'r, 

Tid spritty knowes wad rair't and risket, 

An slypet owre. 1 

When frosts Iny laug, an' snaws were deep, ' 

j An' threaten'd labour back to keep, 

1 gied iljy cog a weep-bit lieap 

■ Aboon thelimmer; 
I kenn'd my Maggie wad na sleep 

For that, or simmer. 
In cart or car thou never restit ; 
The stcyest brae thou wad hae fac'd it: 
i Thou never lap, and sten't and breaslit, 

■ Then stood to blaw ; 
But just tliy step a wee thing hastit., 

Thonsnoov't awa. 
Mypleugh Is now thy bairn-ti,me a' ; 
Four gallant brutes as e'er did draw ; 
Forbye sax mae, I've sell't awa, 

That thou hast nurst ; 
I They drew me thretteen pund un' twa, 

i The very warsl. 

Monie a eair daurk we twa hae wrought, 
An' wi' the weary warl' fought ! 
I An' monie an anxious day, 1 thought 

: We wad be beat; 

Yet here to crazy age we're brought, 
Wi' someihing yet. 
An' think na, my auld trusty servan'. 
That now perhaps thou's less descrvin, 
An' thy auld days may end in starv'in, 

For my Vdstfou, 
A heapit atimpart, I'll reserve ane 
Laid by for you. 

We've worn to crazv years thegillier; 
We'll toyte about wi' ane aiiither; 
Wi' tentie care I'll flit thy tether 
j To some hain'd rig, 

' Wha^e ye may nobly rax yo!r ftatfeer 

Wi' sma' fatigve 



188 POEMS, 

THE DEATH AND DYING WORDS OP POOR 
MAILIE, 

THE author's only PBT TOWS. 

^n unco moumfu' Tale, 

As Mailie an' her lambs thegither, 
Where ae day nibbling on the tether, 
Upon her cloot she coost a hitch, 
An' owre she warsl'd in the ditch ; 
There, groaning, dying, she did lie, 
When Uughoc* he came doytin by. 

Wi' glowrin een, an' lifted ban's, 
Poor Hughoc like a statue Stan's ; 
He saw her days were near-hand ended. 

But, waes my heart I he could na mend it ! j 

He gaped wide, but naething spak, I 

At length poor Mailie silence brak. 

" O thou, whase lamentable face, 
Appears to mourn my wofu' case ! 
My dying words attentive hear, 
An' bear them to my master dear. 

"Tell him, if e'er again he keep 
As muckle gear as buy a sheep, 
O, bid nim never tie them mair 
Wi' wicked strings o' hemp or hair ! 
But ca' them out to park or hill. 
An' let them wander at tlieir will ; 
So may his flock increase, an' grow 
To scores o' lambs, an' packs o' woo* ! 

" Tell him he was a master kin', 
! An' ay was guid to me and mine ; 

! j An' now my dying charge I gie him, 

' i My helpless lambs I trust them wi' him. 

• «' O, bid him save tlieir harmlesa livci 

1 1 Prae dogs, an' tods, an' butchers' knives! 

! ] But gie them guid cow-milk iheir fill, 

1 { Till they be fit to fend themsel ; 

j j An' tent them duly, e'en an' morn, 

I Wi' teats o' hay an' rips o' com. 

* Ji neigibour berd-caUan. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 

*• An' may they never learn ihe gaets 
Of ither vile»wanrestfu' pets! 
To slink thro' slaps, an' reave, an' steal, 
At stacks o' pease, or stocks o' kaiJ. 
So may Ihcy, like their great forbears, 
For nianie a year come thro' the shears ; 
So wives will gie tliein bits o' bread, 
An' bairns greet for them when they're dead. 

" My poor toop-lamb, my son an' heir, 
O, bid liim breed him up wi' care .' 
An', if he live to be a beast, 
To pit some bavins in his breast • 
An' warn him what 1 winna name, 
To stay conteiil wi' yowes at hame ; 
An' no to rin an' wear his cloots, 
lake illier menseless, graceless brutes. 

" An' niest my yowie, silly thing. 
Gude keep thee "frae a tether-string, 
O, may thou ne'er forgather up 
Wi' ony blastit, moorland loop ; 
But ah keep mind to moop an' mell 
Wi' sheep o' credit like thysel ! 

*' And now, my bairns, wi' my last breath, 
I lea'e my blessin wi' you baith ; 
An' when you think upo' your mither, 
Mind to be kin' to ane anither. 

" Now, honest Hughoc, dinna fail. 
To tell my master a' my tale ; 
An' bid him burn this cui-sed tether. 
An', for thy pains, thous'e get my blether." 

This said, poor Mailie turn'd her head, 
An' clos'd her een amang the dead. 

POOR MAILIE'S ELEGY. 

Lament in rhyme, lament in prose, 
Wi' saut tears trickling down your nose^ 
Our bardie's fate is at a c'ose, 

Past a' remead ; 
The last sad cap-siane of his woes ; 

Poor Jilailie's dead I 
It's no the loss o' warl's gear, 
That could sae bitter draw the tear. 
Or mak our bardie, dowie, wear 

The mourning weed; 
« !f->*s lost a friend and neebor dear 

In Mailie dead. 



I ■ OllV Vtflv/'liA lo'TkAlvr IrAirtTtci f-l-m fv\nvkj*A ! 



l| . I 

! i 

I 190 POEMS, CBIEFLT SCOTTISH. 

i Through a' the toun she trotted by hlnii 

1 i A lang half mile she could descry iAm ; 

j j Wi' kindly bleat, when she did spy him, 

! I She ran wi' speed ; 

! I A friend mair faithfu' ne'er cam nigh him, 

j i Than Mailie dead. 

I j I wat she was a sheep o' sense, 

I I An' could behave hersel wi' mense ; ! 
I I'll say't she never bralc a fence, 
- Thro' thievish greed ; 

Our bardie, lanely, keeps the spence 
Sin' Maine's dead. 

Or, if he wanders up the howe, 
Her living image in her yowe, 
I Comes bleating to him, owre the knowe, 

I For bits o' bread ; 

An' down the briny pearls rowe, 
For Mailie dead. 

She was nae get o' moorland tips, 
Wi' tawted ke an' hairy hips ; 
For her forbears were brought in shiM 

Frae yont the Tweed : 
A bonier fleesh ne'er cross'd the cUpi 

Than Mailie dead. 

Wag worth the man wha first did 
That vile, wanchancie thing— a rape ! 
It maks guid fellows girn an gape, 

Wi' chockin bread ; 
An' Robin^s bonnet wave vn' crape, 

For Mailie dead. 

O, a' ye bards on bonie Doon ! 
An' who on Ayr your chanters tune ! 
Come join the melancholious croon 

O' Robin's reed ! 
HiB heart will never get aboon ! 
i His MaUie dead. 



END OP VOL. I. 



THE 

POETICAL WORKS 

OF 

EGBERT BUENS, 

IKCLUDIKQ 

SEVERAL PIECES 
NOT INSERTED IN DR. CURRIE'S EDITION i 

EXHIBITED UNOEB 

A NEW PLAN OF AKRANGEMENT, 

AMD PRECEDED BT 

A LIFE OF THE AUTHOR 

AND 

A COMPLETE GLOSSARY. 



TWO VOLUMES IN ONE. 

Vol. II. 



BOSTON: 
PHILLIPS AND SAMPSON, 

110 Washington Street. 

1847. 



CONTENTS 

OF THE SECOND VOLUME. 
BOOK IV. 

HUMOROUS, SATIRICAL, EPIGRAMMATICAL, AND 
MISCELLANEOUS. 

Page 
Tarn O^Shanter . . . . . .9 

Halloween ...... 15 

The Jolly Beggars . . .23 

Death and Dr. Hornbook .... 33 

A Dream . . . . . . . 37 

Scotch Drink . . . . . .41 

The Author^ s Earnest Cry aid Prayer . . .44 

Address to the Deil . . . . 49 

On the late Captain Grose's reregrinations through 

Scotland, collecting the Antitpiities of that Kingdom . 52 
Lines, written in a wrapper, iiKlosing a letter to Captain 

Grose . . . . . . .53 

Epigram on Captain Grose .... 54 

Lines on an Interview with Lord Daer . . .55 

The Inventory ..... 56 

To a Louse, on seeing one on a Lady's Bonnet at Church 58 
Address to the Tooth-ache . . . .59 

To a Hagffis ... . . 60 

Tlie Holy Fair . . . . . .61 

The Ordination . . . . 67 

Address to the Unco Guid, or the Rigidly Righteous . 71 
The Twa Herds . . . . 73 

The Calf 76 

Holy TVillie's Prayer . . . . . ib. 
Epitaph on Holy fVillie . . . . .79 
The Kirk's Alarm . . . . . ib. 
Letter to John Goudie Kilmarnx)ck . . .81 
A Dedication to Gavin Hamilton, Esquire . . 82 
Lijies addressed to Mr. John Ranken . . .85 
, written by Burns, while on his Death-bed, to the 



Page 

Extempore, on the late Mr. TVtUtam Smellie . . 86 

— , at a meeting of the Dumfriesshire Volunteers ib. 

, to Mr. *'**e, on refusing to dine with him, 

after having been promised the first of Company, and 
the first of Cookery ... .87 

, to Mr. S**e, with a present of a dozen of 

Porter . . . , . . . ib. 

, written in answer U) a Card from an intimate 

of the author, inviting him to spend an hour at a 
Tavern ...... ib. 

, zoritten in a Lady''s Pocket Book . ib. 

Lines, on Miss J. Scott, of Ayr ... 83 

, on hcins asked. Why God had made Miss Davis 

so little, and Miss***, so large . . . ib. 

, written under the picture of the celebrated Misa 

Burns ...... ib. 

, written andpresented to Mrs. Kemble, on seeing 

her in the character of Ya^-ico . . . ib. 

, written on Windows of the Globe Tavern, Dum- 
fries ...... 89 

• , written on a Window, at the King's.3rms Tavern, 

Dumfries . . . . . , ib. 

A verse, presented by the Jluthor to the Master of a 
House, at a place in the Highlands, where he had been 
hospitably entertained .... 90 

Epigram OK thr. neglect of an Innfceeper . . ib. 

071 Elphinstune" s Tran.^lation cf Martial's 

Epigrams ...... ib. 

Verses written on a Window of the Inn at Carron , ib. 

Epitaph on a Celebrated Ruling Elder . . 91 

on a JsToisy Polemic .... ih, 

— — — 071 Wee Johnny .... ib. 

for O. H. Esq. . . . , ib. 

— 071 a Wag in Mauchline ... 92 

071 Johji Dove, Innkeeper, Mauchline • ib. 

on Walter S***** . . . ib. 

on a Henpecked Country Squire . . S3 

Epigram on said occasion . . • , ib. 

.Another . . . . . . , ib. 

On the Death of a Lap-dog, named Echo . „ ib. 

1 1 Tmpromptii on Mrs. ****'s Birth Day , . 94 

] .Monody on a Lady famed for her Capnee • t*. 

I The Epitaph . . . . . .95 

i Ode, Sacred to the Memory of Mrs. *••*, pf , a. 

i The Henpecked Husband . , . .96 

I Elegy on the year 1788 . . . * A. 

{ I Tarn Sampson''s Elegy . . . . , W 

' The Epitaph UO 



COJ^TEJVTS. V 

Page. 
On a Seotek Bard gone to the Wtat Indies . . J013 

On Pastoral Poetry ..... Ko 
Proloffue, spoken at the Theatre^ Ellisland, on J^ew- 

Year'8 Day Eveninff ..... 106 

, spoken by Mr. Woods, on his benefit night 107 

The Rights of Woman, an Occasional Address spoken 

by J\hoS Fontcnelle, on her benefit night . . 109 

Address, spoken by J\Iiss Fontenelle, on her benefit night, 

at the Theatre, Dumfries . , . .109 

Fragment inscribed to the Right Honourable C J. Foz HO 
Inscription for an Jiltar to Independence . .HI 

Address to Edinburgh . . . .112 



BOOK V. 

SONGS AND BALLADS. 

£ Vision . . . . . .114 

Bannockburn—Bruce^s Address to his Army . ] 15 

Song of Death . . . • . .116 

Imitation of an Old Jacobite Song . . ib. 

The Lovely Lass of Inverness . . . .117 

TTie Absent Warrior. — " O Logan, sweetly didst thou 

glide.^* . . . . . . . ib. 

The Warrior^s Return.—^' IVhen wild War's deadly 

blast was biawn''^ . . . . .118 

Lord Gregory ...... 120 

Open the Door to me, oh . . . ib. 

The Entreaty,— ^^ Let me in this ae nighf* . . 121 

The Answer. — " O tell na me o' wind and rain'^ . ib. 

T%e Forlorn Lover — " Forlorn, my love, no comfort 

near'' ....... 122 

The Dreary J\right . . . , . 123 

Poortith Cauld . . . , . . ib. 

Clarinda ...... 124 

Isabella—^'' Raving winds around her blowing,'* . 125 

Wandering Willie ..... j6. 

TTie Parting Kiss . . . . . J28 

TTie Roaring Ocean ..... tt. 

Fair Eliza.—''' Turn again, thou fair Eliza" . . 127 

£/««.—" Farewell thou stream that winding flows" ib. 
Departure of J^ancy . . . .128 

My M'annie's awa . . . .129 

OUomy Duember . . . . . ib. 

The Braes o' Ballochmyle . . .130 

Biadks 0* Doon . . . i^. 



vi COJ^TEJ^TS. 

Page 
Cragie-hurn .....* 131 

The Cheerless Soul. — " Again rejoicing J^ature sees " ib. 
The Disconsolate Lover. — " JVow Spring has clad the 
I groves in green "..... 132 

Jilary Morrison ..... 133 

Fair Jenny. — " Where are the joys I have met in the 

morning " . . . . . . 134 

Address to the Woodlark . . . . ib. 

Fragment in Witherspoon^s Collection of Scottish Songs 135 
Address to a Lady . . . . . . ib. 

TheAuldMan ..... 136 

John Anderson my jo . . . . . ib. 

Auld Lang Sy7ie ..... 137 

Hopeless Love. — " Blithe hae I been on yon hill " . 138 

Banks of J\rith ..... i6. 

Banks of Cree . . . . . .139 

Castle Gordon . . . . . ib. 

Afton Water . . . . . .140 

The Sacred Vow. — " By Allan stream I chanced to rove" ib. 
The Rigs o' Barley . . . . .141 

The Lea-Rig ...... 142 

TTie Lass o' Ballochmyle ..... 143 

Bonie Lesley ...... 144 

Bonie Jean. — " There was a lass, and she was fair " . 145 
To Jeanie. — " Come, let me take thee to my breast " . 146 
Dainty Davie ...... ib. 

Lovely J\ra7icy. — " Thine am I, my faithful fair " . 147 

Clouden Knowes ..... 148 

To CIdoris 149 

Chloris ...... ib. 

Lassie wP the lintichite locks .... 150 

7%!^ is no my ain Lassie .... 151 

Jessy. — " Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear " . . ib. 

The birks of Aberfeldy . . . .152 

The Rose-bud . . . . . .153 

Peggy's Charms. — " When braving angry Winter's 

storms" . . . . . . . ib. 

The blissful Day. — " The day returns, my bosom bums " 154 
Constancy. — ^^ O were J on Parnassus' hill J " . . ib. 

Lovely Jean. ^'^ Of a' the airts the wind can blaw " 155 

Tlie blue-eyed Lassie ..... 156 

Wilt thvu be my Dearie? . . . . ib. 

Lucy. — " O wat ye wha's in yon to7cn " . . 157 

Blithe Phemie. — " Blithe, blithe and merry was she " 158 
Charming J^''annie. — " Behind yon hills where Lugar 

flo7Cs" . . . ■ . . . ib. 

Green grow the Rashes .... 159 

The. Highland Lassie . . . . .160 



CO.YTEJVTS. vii 

Page 

Anna. — " Yestreen I had a pint o' wine " . . 161 

The Spinning' Wheel ..... 162 

T7ie Country Lassie ... . ib. 

Tarn Glen .163 

Ofor Ane-and-Twenty, Tarn . . . 164 

Somebody. — " My heart is sair, I dare na tell " . 165 

whistle and Pll come to you, my lad . . ib. 

What can a young lassie do wi' an auld man 1 . . 166 

My Tocher '5 the Jewel . . . .167 

The Mercenary Lover. — " Hey for a lass wP a Tocher " ib. 

Meg 0' the Mill 168 

Auld Rob Morris . . . . . ib. 

To Tibbie. — ^'' O Tibbie, Ihae seen the day " . . 169 

Duncan Gray ...... 170 

The Braw Wooer . . . . . .171 

Willie^ s Wife. — " Sic a wife as Willie had" . . 172 

Willie brewed a peck 0' Maut .... 173 

Guidwife, count the Lawin .... ib. 

Honest Poverty ...... 174 

Contentment " Contented wP little and cantie wi' 

mair^^ ....... 175 

Caledonia — " Their groves 0' sweet myrtle let foreign 

lands reckon " . . . . . ib. 

The Battle of Sheriff-Muir . . . .176 

The Dumfries Volunteers ..... 177 

The Whistle 178 

John Barleycorn ...... 181 



POEMS, 

CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 
Book IV. 

HUMOROUS, SATIRICAL, EPIGRAMMATICAL, AND 
MISCELLANEOUS. 

TAM O'SHAJ^TER. 



Of Brownyis and of Bogilis full is this BuTce. 

Gavvin Douglas. 

When chapman billies leave the street, j | 

And drouthy ncebors, neebors meet, | 

As market days are wearing late, I 

An' folk begin to tak tlie gate ; < 

While we set bousing at the nappy, ■ | 

An' getting feu and unco happy, | j 

We think na on the lang Scots miles, j 

The mosses, waters, slaps, and styles, i | 

That lie between us and our hame, ; 1 

Whare sits our sulky, sullen dame, ] i 

Gath'ring her brows like gath'ring storm, ; j 

Nursing her wrath to keep it warm. ■ 

This truth fand honest Tarn G^Shantert j I 

As he, frae ^yr, ae i.'eht did canter, j | 

(Auld Ji7jr wham ne'er c town surpasses, \ 

For honest men and bonie lasses.) 
Vol. n. B 



POEMS, 

O Tarn ! had'st thou but been sae wise, 
As taen thy ain wife Kate's advice ! 
She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum, 
A bletherins, blustering, drunken blellum ; 
That frae November till October, 
Ae market day thou was na sober ; 
That ilka melder, wi' the miller. 
Thou sat as lang as thou had siller ; 
That ev'ry naig was ca'd a shoe on 
The smith and thee gat roaring fou on; 
That at the L— d's house, ev'n on Sunday, 
Thou drank wi' Kirton Jean till Monday. 
She prophesy'd, that, late orsoon, 
Thou would be found deep drown'd in Doon 
Or catch'd wi' warlocks in tlie mirk, 
By Alloway's auld haunted kirk. 

Ah, gentle dames ! it gars me greet, 
To think how monie counsels sweet, 
How monie lengthen'd sage advices. 
The husband frae the wife despises ! 

But to our tale ; Ae market night, 
Tarn had got planted unco right : 
Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely, 
Wi' reaming swats, that drank didnely 
And at his elbow, souter Johnny, 
His ancient, trusty, drouther crony ; 
Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither ; 
They had been fou for weeks thegither. 
The night drave on wi' sangs and clatter 
And ay the ale was growing better ; 
The landlady and Tam grew gracious, 
Wi' favours, secret, sweet, and precious; 
The souter tauld his queerest stories ; 
The landlord's laugh was ready chorus: 
The storm without might rair and rustle, 
Tam did na mind the storm a whistle. 

Care, mad to see a man sae happy, 
E'en drown'd himself amang the nappy ; 
As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure, 
Tiie minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure; 
Kings may be b!e?t, but Tam was glorious, 
O'er a' the ills o' life victorious. 

But pleasures are like poppies spread. 
You seize the flower^ its bloom is shed; 
Or, like the snow ^ails in the river, 
A moment white — then melts for ever ; 



CHIEFL Y SCO TTISH 

Or like the borealis race, 

That flit ere you can point their place ; 

Or like the rainbow's lovely form 

Evanishing amid tlie storm. — 

Nae man can tether time or tide ; 

The hour approaches Tarn maun ride ; 

That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane, 

That dreary hour he mounts his beast in ; 

And sic a night he taks th<; road in, 

As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in. 

The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last ; 
The rattling sliow'rs rose on the blast ; 
The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd ; 
Loud, deep, and lang, the ihiinder bellow'd : 
That night, a child might understand, 
The Deil had business on his hand. 

Wcel mounted on his gray mare, Meg, 
A better never lifted leg, 
Tarn skelpit on thro' dub and mire, 
Despising wind, and rain, and fire ; 
Whyles holding fast his guid blue bonnet ; 
Whyles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet ; 
Whyles glow'ring round wi' prudent cares, 
Lest bogles catch him unawares ; 
Kirk-Mloway was drawing nigh, 
Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry. 

By this time he was cross the ford, 
Whare in the snaw the chapman smoor'd : 
And past the birks and meikle stane, 
Whare drunken Charlie brak's neck bane ; 
An thro' the whins, and by the cairn, 
Whare hunters fand the nmrdci'd bairn ; 
And near the thorn, aboon the well, 
Whare Mwngo's mither hanged hersel. — 
Before liiin Doon pours all its floods. 
The doubling storm roars thro' the woods; 
The lightnings flash from pole to pole ; 
Near and more near the thunders roll ; 
When, glimmering thro' the groaning trees, 
Kirk-Mloway seem'd in a bleeze : 
Thro' ilka bore the beams were glancing ; 
And loud resounded mirth and dancing. 

Inspiring bold John Barleycorn ! 
What dangers thou canst make us scorn ! 
Wi' tippenny, we fear nae evil ; 
Wi' usquebae, we'll face the devil' 



11 



I 12 POEMS, 

j The swats sae ream'd in Tammie'a noddl^ 

Fair play, he car'd na Deils a boddle. 
But Maggie stood right sair astonish'd, 
Till, by the heel and hand admonish'd, 
She ventur'd forward on the light ; 
And vow ! Tarn saw an unco sight ! 
Warlocks and witches in a dance ; 
Nae cotillion brent new frae France, 
But hornpipes, jigs, stratlispeys, and reels, 
Put life and mettle in their heels. 
A winnock-bunker in the east, 
There sat auld Nick, in shape o' beast ; 
A towzietyke, black, grim, and large, 
To gie them music was his charge: 
He screw' d the pipes, and gart them skirl 

I i Till roof and rafters a' did dirl. 

i \ Coffins stood round like open presses, 

' ' That shaw'd the dead in their last dressea ! 

And by some devilish cantrip slight, 
Each in its cauld hand held a light, 
By which, heroic Tarn was able 
I ; ^^ To note upon the iialy table, 

i; • A murderer's banes in gibbet aims; 

i ! Twa span lang, wee, unchristen'd bairns \ 

I I ' A thief, new cutted frae a rape, 

i 1 Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape ; 

j ; Five tomahawks, wi' bluid red- rusted ; 

I ; Five scimitars, wi' murder crusted ; 

j A garter, which a babe had strangled ; 

! I A knife, a father's throat had mangled, 

! ! Whom his ain son o' life bereft, 

The gray hairs yet stack to the Iieft; 

1 1 Three lawyers' tongues turn d inside out, 

! ; Wi' lies seam'd like a beggar's clout ; 

j 4ind priests' hearts, rotten, black as muck, 

j ! Lay, stinking, vile, in every neuk. 

j Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu', 

i Which ev'n to name wad be unlawfu'. 
! As Tammie glow'rd, amaz'd, and curious, 

! The mirth and fun grew fast and furious : 

i i The piper loud and louder blew ; 

i I The dancers quick and quicker flew ; 

1 1 They reel'd, they set, they cross'd, they cleekit, 

; Till ilka carlin swat and reekit. 

And coost her duddies to the wark, 
And linket at it in her sark I 

! ■ Now Tam, O Tamf had they been queans 

i ; A' plump and strapping w 'heir teens ; 

i: 



CHIEFLY SCO TTJSIL 

Their saiks, instead o' creeshie flannen, 
feen enaw-white sevenleeii liuiider linen I 
These bieeks o' mine, my only pair, 
That ance were plush, o' guid blue hair, 
I wad liae gi'en them atf my hurdles. 
For ae bhnk o' the bonie burdies ! 

But wlther'd beldams, auld and droll, 
Rigwoodie hags wad spcan a Ibal, 
Lowping an' fiiuging en a crummock, 
I wonder didna turn thy stomach. 

But Tarn kenn'd what was what fu' brawlie. 
There was ae winsome wench and walie, 
(That night enlisted in the core 
Lang after kenn'd on Carrick shore ! 
For monie a beast to dead she shot, 
And perish'd monie a bonie boat. 
And shook baith meikle corn and bear, 
And kept the country-side in fear,) 
Her cutty-sark o' Paisley harn, 
That while a lassie she had worn 
In longitude tiro' sorely scanty. 
It was her best, and slie was vauntie. — 
Ah ! little kenn'd thy reverend grannie, 
Tliat sark she cofl ibr her wee J\''an?iie, 
Wi' twa pund Scots ('twas a' lier riches) 
Wad ever grac'd a dance o' witches ! 

But liere my muse her wing maun cow'r ; 
Sic flights are far beyond ];er pow'r; 
To sing how J^Tannic lap and flang, 
(A souple jad she was and Strang) 
And how Tarn stood, like ane bewitcli'd, 
And tJiought his very een enrich'd ; 
Even Satan glowr'd, and fidg'd fu' fain. 
And hotch'd, and blew wi' might and main , 
Till first ae caper, syne anilher, 
Tarn tint his reason a' tiieglther, 
And roars out, " Weel done, Cutty-sark 1' 
And in an instant a' was dark : 
And scarcely had he Maggie rallied, 
When out the hellish legion sallied. 

As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke, 
When plundering herds assail ttieir byke; 
As open jussie's mortal foes. 
When, pop ! she starts before tlieir nose ; 
As eager runs the market-crowd, 
When, " Catcl! !hr thief!" resounds aloud; 



POEMS, 

So Maggie runs, Uie witches follow, 

Wi' monie an eldritch skreech and hollow. 

Ah, Tam ! ah, Tarn I thou'li gel thy fairin ! 
In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin ! 
In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin ! 
Kate soon will be a woefu' woman ! 
Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg, 
And win the key-stane* of the brig ; 
There at them ihou thy tail may toss, 
A running stream they dare na cross. 
Hut ere the key-stano she could make, 
The fient a tail she had to shake! 
For J\rannie, far before the rest, 
Hard upon noble Maggie prest. 
And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle ; 
But little wist she Mngaie's mettle— 
Ae spring brought ali'Jier master Iia!c, 
Hut left behind her ain gray tail : 
The carlin claught her by tiie rump, 
And left poor Maggie ecarce a stump, 

Now, wha this ta'.e o' truth shall reap, 
Ilk man and mother's son, take heed : 
Whene'er to drink you are inclin'd, 
Or cutty-saiks run in your mind. 
Think, ye niay buy the joys o'er dear, 
Remember Tam O'Shanter^s mare. 



[The following poem will, by many readers, be well enough 
understood ; but for the sake of those who are unacquaintet' 
ivith the manners and traditions of the country whero iXi*i 
scene is cast, notes are added, to give some account of th3 
principal charms and spells of tliat night, so big with pro 
pliecy to the peasantry in the west of Scotland. The passioii 
'j^ prying into futurity makes a striking part of the history 
Df human nature in its rude state, in all ages and nations ; 
and it may be some entertainment to a philosophic mind, it' 
any such sliould honour the author with a perusal, to see the 
remains of it among the more unenlightened in our own.] 



* It is a well known fact, that witches., or any evil spirits, 
have no power to folloro a poor wight any farther than the 
middle of the next running stream, ft may be proper like- 
wise to mention to the benighted traveller, that when he falls 
m with bogies, whatever danger may be in his g&ing forward, 
\he"s is much viore hazard in turning back. 



1 1 CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 15 

i! 

1 1 HALLOWEEN.* 

|i 

I Yes! let the rich deride^ ike proud disdain, 

The simple pleasures of the lowly train ; 

i To me more dear, congenial to my heart, 

j I One native charm than all the gloss of art. 
i I Goldsmith, 

j I Upon that night, when fairies light, 
I J On Caesilis Downans] dance, 

j Or owre tiie lays in splendid blaze, 
i I On spriglitly coursers prance ; 

' i Or for Colean the rout is taen, 
j j Beneath the moon's pale beams ; 

i i There, up tlie Cove,% to stray an' rove 

! Amang the rocks an' streams 

i To sport that night. 

n. 

Among the bonie winding banks, 
I Where Doon rins, wimplin, clear, 

Where Bracc^ ance rul'd the martial ranks, 

And shook the Carrick spear. 
Some merry, friendly, countra folks, 

Together did convene, 
To burn their nits, an' pou their stocks, 
An' haud their Halloween 

Fu' biythe that night. 

III. 

The lasses feat, an' cleanly neat, i 

Mair braw than when they're fine; 
Their faces biythe, fu' sweetly kythe, 

Hearts leal, an' warm, an' kiii' : | 

• Is tjumght to h_e a night when witches, devils, and other 
miscbief-viaking beings, are all abroad on their baneful 
midnight errands; particularly those aerial people,the fairies, 
are said on that night to hold a grand anniversary. 

t Certain liltlc, romantic, rocky, green hills, in the neigh- 
bourhood of the ancient seat of the earls of Cassilis. 

X -A noted cavern near Celean-liouse, called the Cove oj 
Colean; which, as well as Cassilis Downans, is famed in 
country story for being a favourite haunt of fairies. 

$ The famous family of that name, the ancestors of Ro 
lertf the great deliverer of his couidry, were earls of Carrick 



._..Ji 



il 



ii . !l 

16 POEMS, 1 1 

The lads sae trig, wi' wooer-babs, ! \ 

Weel knotted on their garten, i j 

Some unco blate, and some wi' gabs, I j 

Gar lasses' hearts gang slarlin 1 1 

Whyles fast that night ; I 

IV. !j 

Then first and foremost, thro' the kail, i j 

Their stocks* maun a' be sought ance; • j 

They steek their een, an' graip an' wale, ' 

For muckle anes an' straasht anes. l 

Poor hav'rel Will fell aff the^drift, ' 

An' wander'd thro' the bow-kail, 
An' pow't, for want o' belter shift, 

A runt was like a sow-tail, 

Sae bow'l tliat night 
V. 
Then, straugh, or crooked, yird or nana. 

They roar an' cry a' throu'ther ; ' j 

The vera wee things, todlin, rin 1 1 

Wi' stocks out-owre their shouther ; 
An' gif the custock's sweet or sour, 

Wi' joctelegs they taste them ; 
Syne coziely, aboon tlie door, 

Wi' cannie care, they've plac'd them 
To lie that night. 

VI. 

The lasses stavv frae 'mang them a' 
To pou their stalks o' com;t 

* The first ceremony of Halloween,is, pulling each a stock, 
or plant of kail. They must ffo out, hand in hand, with eyes 
shut, and pvll the first they meet with. Its being big or little, 
straight or crooked, is prophetic ef the size and shape of the 
grand object of all their spells — the husband or wife. If any 
yird, or earth, stick to the root, that is touclier, or fortune; 
and the taste of the custock, that is, the heart of the stem, is 
indicative of the natural temper and disposition. Lastly, the 
stems, or to give them their ordinary appellation, the runts, 
are placed somewhere abore the hand of the door : and the 
Christiaii names of tJie people whom chance brings into the 
house, are, acccratng to the priority of placing the runts, the 
name? i.\ question. 

t They go to the barn-yard, and pull each, at three several 
times, a stalk of oats. If the third stalk wants the tap-pickle, 
that is, the grain at the top of the stalk, the party in guestisn 
will come to the marriage-bed any thing but a maid. 



i :| 



I CHIEFL Y SCO T TISH. 17 

But Rab slips out, an ' jinks about, 
. Behint the muckle thorn : 
He grippet Nolly harrl an' fast, 

Loud skirl'd a' the lasses; 
But her tap-pickle niaist was lost, 
When kinilin in tlie fause-house* 
VVi' him that night. 

VII. 
The auld guidwife's weel hoordet nits^ 

Are round an' round divided. 
An' monie lads' an' lasses' fates, 

Are there that night decided: 
Some kindle, couthie, side by side, 

An' burn thegither trimly ; 
Some start awa wi" saucy pride. 

And jump out-owr<.' the chimlie 

Fu' high that night. 

vin. 

Jean slips in twa wi' tentie e'e ; 

Wha 'twaa she wadna tell ; 
But this is Jack, and this is me, 

She says in to Jjersel : 
He bleez'd owre h<^r, an' she ovvre him, 

As they wad never mair part ! 
Till luff; he startfd up the lum, 

An' Jean had e'en a sair hea)t 

To see't thai i ight. 

IX. 
Poor Willie, wi his low-kail-runt, 

Was bnmt w i' primsie MaH'e ; 
An' Mallie, naf doubt, took tho drunt. 

To be conipar'd to Willie ; 
Mall's nit lap (.ut wi' pridefu' fling, 

An' her aiii fit it brunt it; 

* When the corn is in a dozibtftd state, by being too green 
or wet, the stack-buildrr, by weans of old timber, ^-c, makes 
a larrre apartment in his stack, with an opening in the side 
which is fairest exposed to the wind; this he calls a fause- 
house. 

f Burning the nuts is a famous charm. They name the 
lad and lass to each particular nut, as they lay them in the 
fre, and accordingly as they burn quietly together, or start 
from beside one another, the course and issue of the courtship 
will be. 



18 POEMS, 

While Willie !ap, and swoor hyjing, 
'Tvvas just tiie way he 'granted 
To be tliat night 

X. 

Nell had the fause-honse in lier min', 

She pits heisel an' Rob in ; 
In loving bleeze they sweetly join, 

Till white in ase they're sobbin: 
Nell's heart was dancin at the view, 

She whisper'd Rob to leuk for't : 
Rob, stowlins, prie'd her bonie mou, 

Fu' cozie in the neuk for't, 

Unseen that nighL 

XL 

But Merran sat behint their backs. 

Her thoughts on Andrew Bell ; 
She lea'es them gashin at their cracks. 
And slips out by hersel : 
I i She thro' the yard the nearest take, 

! An' to the kiln she goes then, 

I An' darklins grapit for the banks, 

i And in the hlucclue* throws then, 

Right fear't that nlgllt 

I XII. 
i I An' ay she win't, an' ay she swat, 
: ! I wat she made nae jaukin ; 

I I Till something held within the pat, 
I Guid L— d, but ^e was quakin ! 
I But whether 'twas the Dei! himsel, 

Or whether 'twas a bauk-en', 
Or wliether it was Andrew Bell, 
She did na wait on talkin 

To spier that night. 

XIIL 

Wee Jenny to her grannie says, 
" Will ye go wi' me, grannie 1 

* Whoever would, with success, try this spdl, must atriet' 

ly ohstrve these directions : Steal out, all alone^ to the kUn, j 

and, darkling, throw into the pot a elue of blue yam; toind \ 

it in a new clue off the old one; and towards the latter end, \ 

something vill hold the thread; demand, Wha hands'? ». e. j 

Who holds ? ^n answer will be returned from the kiln-pot, i 
by naming the christian and surname of your future spouee. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 1^ 

rn eat the apple* at tlie glass, 

1 gatfiae uncle Johnnie :" 
She fuff't her pipe wi' eick a lunt, 

In wrath she was sae vap'rin, 
She notic't. na, an aizle brunt 

Her braw new worset apron 

Out thro' that night 

XIV. 

' Ye Uttie skelpie limmer's face ! 

How daur you try sic sportin, 
As seek the foul thief onie place, 

For him to epae your fortune ? 
Nae doubt but ye may get a sight ! 

Great cause ye have to fear it ; 
For monie a ane has gotten a fright, 

An^ lived an' died deleeret 

On sic a night 

XV. 

" Ae hairst afore the Sherra-moor, 

I mind't as weel's yestreen, 
I was a gylpev then, I'm sure 

I was nae p'ast fyi'teen ; , ^ 

The simmer had bten cauld an' wat. 

An' stuff was unto green ; 
An' ay a ran tin kirn we gat. 

An' just on Hallotnecn 

■' It fell that night. 

XVI. 
•« Our Blibblc-risc was Ifab M'Graem, 

A clever, sturdy fallow ; 
He's Bin' gat Eppie Sim wi' wean, 

That liv'd in Achmacalla : 
He gat hemp-seed,^ I mind it weel, 

♦ Take a eandle, and go alove to a ^''»*"»^-^^«"/;/** °^ 
n^Ubtfore iU and some traditions say, you shovld comb 
i^rhSAlime; the face of your conjugal companwn 
rc,S j"5«n intkeglass as if peeping over your shcuL 

'^' Steal out, unperceived, and sou, a A««rf/«J£ J^^'J-jf; 
karrlnning it with any thingyoucun ^onvementlydrnw a^r 
Z^Z Reveat now and then, " Hemp-seed, I saw thee,k*mp 
ja IsZtilTand Mm (or her) that is to be ^y tru^ 
1^ Jttr me and vou «4ec." Look over your left 'A^W^T' 
^iW^lls,e^he appearance of the person ^nvoked^ 
UuiUHtJe of pulling hemp. Some traditions say ^Qme 



II 

II 

20 POEMS, 

An' he made unco light o't; 

But monie a day was by himsel, 

He was sae sairly frightet 

Thai vera night." 

XVII. 

Then up gat fetchin Jamie Fleck, 

An' he swoor by his conscience. 
That he could saw hemp-seed a peck, | 

For it was a' but nonsense : ■ 

The auld guidman raught down the peck, > 

An' out a handfu' gied him ; 
Syne bad him slip frae 'raang the folk, 

Some time when na ane see'd him. 
An' try't that night. 

xvm. 

He marches thro' amang the stacks, 

Tho' he was something sturtin ; 
The ffraip he for a harrow taks. 

An' haurls at his curpin : 
An' ev'ry now an' then, he says, 

" Hemp-seed, I saw thee, 
An' her that is to be my lass. 

Come after me, and draw thee 

As fast this night." 

XIX. 
He whistl'd up Lord Lennox's march, 

To keep his courage cheery ; 
Although his hair began to arch. 

He was sae fley'd an' eerie ; 
Till presently he hears a squeak. 

An' then a grane an' gruntle : 
He by his shouther gae a keek. 

An' tumbl'd wi' a wintle 

Out-owre that night. 

XX. 

He roar'd a horrid murder-shout. 

In dreadfu' desperation ! 
An' young and auld came rinnin out, 

An hear the sad narration : 
He swoor 'twas hilchin Jean M'Craw, 

I 
after me, and shaw thee,^'' that is, show thyself: in wkiek MM i 

it simply appears. Others omit the harrotring, and ttsfi 
" Come after me, and barrow thee.'" 



CH!E FL Y SCO TTISIL 



Or crouchie Merran Humphie, 
'Till stop! she trotted thro' them a' 
An' wha was it but gruvipMe \ 

Astcer that night ! ! 



XXI. 

Meg fain wad to the bam hae gaen 

To winn three rccchts o' naething;* 
But for to meet tlie Dcil her lane, 

She pat but littie faith in : 
She gies the herd a pickie nits, 
An' Iwa red clieekit apples, 
To watch, while for the bam she sets, 
In hopes to see Tarn Kipples 
That vera night 
XXII. 
She turns the key wi' cannie thraw, 
And owre the tlncshold ventures ; 
But first on Sawnie gies a ca', 
Syne bauldly in she enters ; 
A ratton rattl'd up the wa', 

An' she cry'd, L— d, preserve her ! 
An' ran thro' middeu-hole an' a'. 
An' pray'd wi' zeal an' fervor, 

Fu' fast that night 
XXIII. 
They hoy't out Will, wi' sair advice : 

They hecht him some fine bravv ane ; 
It chanc'd the stack hefaddom'd th,rice,1[ 
Was timber-propt for thrawin : 

* This charm must likewise be performed, utiperceived, 
and alone. You go to the harn, and open both doors, taking 
them off the hivges, if possible; for there is danger that the 
being, about to aj)pcar, may shut the doors, and do you some 
mischief. Then take that instrument used in winnowing the 
com, which, i7i our country dialect, we call a wecht; and go 
through all the attitudes of letting down corn against the 
loind. Repeat it three times; and the third time an appari- 
tion will pass through the barn, in at the windy door, and out 
at the other, having both the figure in question, and the ap- 
pearance or retinue, marking the employment or station in 
life. 

t Take an opportunity of going, unnoticed, to a bear- 
stack, avdfathom it three times round. The last fathom of 
the last !ime, you will catch in your arms the appearance of 
your fvl lire conjugal yoke-fclloio. 



22 POEMS, 

He laks a swirlie, anld moss oak, ! i 

For some black, giousome carlin ; , { 

An' loot a winze, an' drew a stroke, , i 

Till skain in blypes came liaurlin ; | 

Aff's nieves that night. ' ! 

XXIV. 

A wanton widow Leezie was, ; ; 

As canty as a kiltlen ; j | 

But Och ! that night, amang the shaws, ; \ 

She got a fearfu' seltlin ! 1 1 

She thro' the whins, an' by the c'-irn, ; i 

An' owre the hill gaed scrievin, I i 

Whare three lairds' lands met at a Jum,* i 1 

To dip her left sark-sleeve in, : 1 
Was beat that night. 

XXV. 1 1 

Whyles owre a linn the bumie plays, ; | 

As thro' the glen it wimpl't ; ! 1 

Whyles round a rocky scar it strays ; \ } 

Whyles in a wiel it dinipl't ; \ I 

Whyles glitter'd to the nightly rays, 

VVi' bickering, dancing dazzle ; 
Wbyles cookit underneath the braes, 

Below the spreading hazel, 

Unseen that night. 

XXVI. 

Amang the brachens, on the brae, 

I Between her an' tho moon, 
; The Deil, or else an outler quey, 

Gat up an' gae a croon : 
Poor Leezie's heart maist lap the hool ; 
Near lav'rock-height she jumpit, 
i But mist a fit, an' in the pool 

I Out-owre the lugs she plumpit, 

! I Wi' a plunge that night. 

il 

! I * You go out, one or more, for this is a social spell, to a 

' I ^ south-running spring or rivulet, where " three lairds^ landt 

I I meet,'''' and dip your left shirt sleeve. Oo to bed in sight of 
,' I afire, and hang your wet sleeve before it to dry. Lie awake .' 
I and sometime near midnight an apparition, having the exact 
I figure of the grand object in question, will come and turn the 
\ sleeve, as if to dry the other side of it. 



CHIEFL T SCO TTISH. 23 

XXVII. 
In order, on the clean hearth-stane, 

The luggies tliree* are ranged, 
And every time great care is taen, 

To see them duly changed : 
Auld uncle John, wha wedlock's joys 

Sin Mar's year did desire, 
Because he gat tire tcom dish thrice, 
lie heav'd them on the fire 

In wrath that night 

XXVIII. 
Wi' merry sangs, an' friendly cracks 

I wat tliey did na weary ; 
y\n' unco tales, an' funnie jokes, 

Their si)orls were cheap an' cheery. 
Till butter'' d so'jjs,! wi' flagrant lunt, 

Set a' their gabs a-steerin , 
Syne wi' a social glass o' strunt, 

They parted affcareerin 

Fu' blythe that night. 



THE JOLLY BEGG.anS.. 

A CANTATA. 

RECITATIVO. 

When lyart leaves bcstrow the yird. 
Or wavering like the Bauckie-bird,J 

Bedim cauld Boreas' blast ; 
When hail stanes drive wi' bitter skyte, 

* Take three dishes : put clean water in o?ie, foul waUt 
in another, leave the third empty : hlindfcld a person^ atu 
lead him to the h wrth tchere the dishes are ranged; he (« 
she) dips the left hand: if by chance in the clean water, th- 
future husband i r wife will come to the bar of matrimony t 
maid : if in thejoul, a widow : if in the empty dish, it fore 
tells, with equal :ertainty, no marriage at all. It is repeatei 
three times, and every time the arrangement of the dishes ii 
altered. 

t Sowens, wili. butler instead of milk to them, is aUcayt 
iAfi Halloween supper. 

X The old Sco \ch name for the Bat 



24 POEMS, 

And infant frosts begin to bite, 

In hoary cranreuch drest ; 
Ae night at e'en a merry core 

O' randie, gangrel bodies, 
In Poosie-Nansie's held Ihe splore, 
To drink their orra duddies : 
Wi' quaffing and laughing, 

They ranted and they sang ; 
\Vi' jumping and thumping, 
The vera girdle rang. 

First niest the fire in auld red rags, 
Ane sat, vveel brac'd vvi' mealy bags, 

And knapsack a' in order ; 
His doxy lay within his arm, 
Wi' usquebae an' blankets warm- 
She blinket on her sodger : 
An' ay he gives the tozle drab 

The tither skelpin kiss, 
While she held up her greedy gab 
Just like an aunios dish. 
Ilk smack still did crack still, 
Just like a cadger's whip, 
Then staggering and swaggering 
He roar'd this ditty up— 

AIR. 

Tunc—" Soldier's Joy." 
I. 
1 AM a sou of Mars, who have been in many want. 
And show my cuts and scars wherever I come : 
This here was for a wench, and that other in a trench, 
When welcoming the French at the sound of Uie drum. 
Lai de daudle, &c. 

IT. 



My prenticeship I past where my leader breath'd his last, i ; 

When the bloody die was cast on the heights of Abram ; 1 1 

I served out my trade when the gallant game was play'd, j ! 

And the Moro low was laid at the sound of the drum. I i 

Lai de daudle, Stc. \ i 

III. ;i 

I lastly was with Curtis, among the floating batt'ries, ; i 

And there I left for witness an arm and a limb ; : i 
Yet let my country need me, with Elliot to head me, ^ | j 

I'd clatter on my stumps at the sound of a drum. ! ] 

Lai de daudle, &e I ■■ 



CHIEFL Y SCO TTISH. 8S 

IV. 
And now, tho' I must beg with a wooden arm and leg, 
And many a tatter'd rag hanging over my bum, 
I'm as happy with my wallet, my bottle and my callet, 
Afl when I us'd in scarlet to follow a drum. 

Lai de daudle, &c. 

V. 
What tho' with hoary locks, I must stand the winter shocks, 
Beneath the woods and rocks oftentimes for a home. 
When the t'othor bag I sell, and the t'other bottle tell, 
I couJd meet a troop of hell at the sound of the drum. 

Lai de daudle, &c. 

RECITATIVO. 

He ended ; and the kebars sheuk 

A boon the chorus roar ; 
While frighted rations backward leuk, 

And seek the benniost bore ; 
A fairy fiddler frue the neuk, 

He skjr'd out encore ! 
But up arose the martial chuck, 

And laid the loud uproar. 

AIR. 

Tune— " Soldier Laddie." 
I. 
I once was a maid, tlio' I cannot tell when. 
And still my delight is in proper young men : 
Some one of a troop of dragoons was my daddie, 
No wonder I'm fond of a sodger laddie. 

Sing, Lai de lal, &c. 
II. 
The first of my loves was a swaggering blade, 
To rattle the thundering drum was his trade : 
His leg was so tight, and his cheek was so ruddy, 
Transported I was with ray sodger laddie. 

Sing, Lai de lal, &c. 

III. 

But the godly old chaplain left him in the lurch. 
The sword I forsook for the sake of the church ; 
He ventured the soul, and I risked the body, 
'Twas then I prov'd false to my sodger laddie. 

Sing, Lal de lai, &c 
Vol. II. C 



Sing^, heymy hraw John Highlandman! 
Singf, ho my braw John Hir^Uandtnan ' 
There'' 8 not a lad in a' the Ian" 
Woe match for my John Highlandmtm. 



6 POEMS, 

IV. 
Full soon I grew sick of my sanctified Mt, 
The regiment at large for a husband I got ; 
From the gilded spontoon to the fife I was re&dtfi 
I askea no more out a souger laddie. 

Sing, Lai de lal, te. 

V. |! 

But the peace it reduc'd me to beg in despair, j I 

Till I met my auld boy at Cunningham fair ; j 

His rags regimental they flutter'd so gaudy, j 
My heart it rejoiced at my sodger laddie. 

Sing, Lai de lal, &c. I 

VL I 
And now I have liv'd— I know not liow long, 

And still I can join in a cup or a song ; I 

But whilst with both hands I can hold thaglasa steady, i 

Here's to thee, myTiero, my sodger laddie. ! 

Sing, Lal de lal &e. 1 1 

ii 

RECITATIVO. i 

|l 

Then niest outspak a raucio carlin, i I 

Wha kent fu' weel to cleek the sterling, j I 

For monie a pursie she had hooked, ; I 

And had in monie a well been ducked. i \ 

Her dove had been a Highland laddie, I i 

But weary fa' the waefu' woody ! I j 

Wi' sighs and sobs she thus began j ' 

To wail her braw John Highlandman. | ! 

AIR. j I 

Tunc—" O an' ye were dead, gudeman.** ! j 

A highland lad my love was born, I i 

The Lalland laws he held in scorn ; ! 1 

But he still was faithfu' to his clan, i I 

My gallant braw John Highlandman. j I 

ij 

CHORUS. 1 1 



CHIEFL Y SCO TTISH. '. 

II. 

With liis philibeg, an' tartan plaid, 
An' gude claymore down by his side, 
The ladies' hearts he did trepan, 
My gallant l)ra\v John Highiandman. 

Sing, hey, &c. 

III. 
We ranged a' from Tweed to Spey, 
An' liv'd like lords and ladies gay ; 
For a Lalland face lie feared none, 
My gallant braw John Highiandman. 

Sing, hey, &c. 

IV. 

They banish'd him beyond the sea, 
But ere the bud was on the tree, 
Adown my cheeks the pearls ran, 
Embracing my John Highiandman. 

Sing, hey, &c. 
V. 
But, oh ! they catcli'd him at the last, 
And bound him in a dungeon fast ; 
My curse upon them every one, 
They've hang'd my braw John Highiandman. 

Sing, hey, &c. 
VI. 
And now a widow, I must mourn 
The pleasures that will ne'er return; 
No comfort but a hearty can, 
When 1 think on John Highiandman. 

Sing, hey, &c. 

RECITATIVO. 

A pigmy scraper wi' his fiddle, 

Wha us'd to trysts and fairs to driddle, 

Her strappan limb and gaucy middle, 

He reach'd nae higher. 
Had hol'd his heartie like a riddle. 

An' blawn't on fire. 

Wi' hand on haunch, an' upward e'e, 
He croon'd his gamut, one, two, three, 
Then in an Arioso key, 

The wee Apollo 
Set off wi' MlcsrMo glee 

His giga solo. 



POEMSy 

AIR. 

ritne— " Whistle o'er the lave o't" 

Let me ryke up to dight that tear, 
An' go wi' me to bo my dear, 
An' then your ev'ry care and fear 
May whistle o'er the lave o't. 

CHORUS. 

/ am a fiddler to my trade, 
^nd a' the tunes that e'er Iplay^d^ 
The sweetest still to wife or maid. 
Was whistle o''er the lave o't. 

II. 

At kirns and weddings vve'se be there, 
And O ! sae nicely's we will fare ; 
We'll bouse about till daddie Care 
Sing whistle o'er the lave o't. 
I am, &c. 

III. 

Sae merrily the banes we'll pyke, 
An' sun oursels about the dyke, 
An' at our leisure, when we like, 
We'll whistle o'er the lave o't. 
I am, &c. 

IV. 

But bless me wi' your heav'n o charms. 
And while I kittle hair on thairms, 
Hunger, cauld, an' a' sic harms, 
May wliistle o'er the lave o'L 
I am, &c. 

RECITATIVO. 

Her charms had struck a sturdy Caird, 

As weel as poor gut-scraper ; 
He taks the fiddler by the beard, 

And draws a rusty rapier. 
He swore by a' was swearing worth, 

To speet him like a pliver, 
Unless he would, from that time forth, 

Relinquish her for ever. 



i CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 

I Wi' ghastly e'e, poor tweedle-dee 
I Upon his hunkers bended, 

i I And pray'd for grace, wi' ruefu' face, 
i And so the quanel ended. 

1 Bat thougu Ills nine neart did grieve, 
1 Wlien round tlie tinker press' d her 

' He feign'd to snirlle in his sleeve, 

When thus the Caird address'd her. 

AIH. 
Tunc—" Clout the Caudron." 

My bonie lass, I work in brass, 

A tinker is my station; 
I've travelled round all Christian grouna 



39 



In this my occupation. 
I've ta'en the gold, I've been enroll d 

In many a noble squadron ; 
But vain they search'd, when aff I march d 

To go and clout the caudron. 

I've ta'en the gold, &c. 
II. 
Despise that shrimp, that wither'd unp, 

Wi' a' his noise and cap'rin. 
And tak a share wi' those that bear 

The budget and the apron. 
And by that slowp ! my faith and hpup. 

And by that dear Kilbaigie,* 
If e'er ye want, or meet wi' scant. 

May I ne'er weet my craigie. 

And by that stowp, tec. 

RECITATIVO. 

The Caird prevail'd— th' unblushing fair 

In his embraces sunk, 
1 Partly wi' love o'ercome sae sasr. 

An' partly she was drunk- 
Sh Violina wi' an air 

That ehow'd a man of spunk, 
Wish'd unison between the pair, 

An' made the bottle clunk 

* JSpeculiar sort of whiskey, so called, a great faomriU 
with nosie-J^ansie'e clubs. 



POEMS, 



But hurchin Cupid shot a shaft ! 

That play'd a dame a shavie, ! 

The fiddler rak'd her fore and aft j 

Behuit the chicken cavia, I 

Her lord, a wight o' Homer's* craft, 

Tho' limpin wi' the spavie, 
He hirpl'd up, and lap like daftj 

And shor'd lliem dainty Davio 
O' boot that night 

He was a care-defying blade 

As ever Bacchus listed ; 
Tho' Fortune sair upon him laid, 

His heart she ever mias'd it. 
He had nae wish, but— to be clad, 

Nor want, but— when he thirsted ! i 

He hated nought but— to be sad, ! 

And thus the Muse suggested I 

His sang that night. I 

Am. 

TVne— '« For a' that, and a' that.** 
I. 
I am a Bard of no regard 

Wi' gentle folks, an' a' that ; 
But Homer-like, the glowran bykey 

Frae town to town I draw that. 

CHORUS. 

For a' that^ and a' that^ 

Jlnd twice as muekle's a' that; 
Pve lost but ane, Pre twa behin'^ 
Pve wife eneughfor a' that. 
11. 
I never drank the Muses' stank, 
Castalia's bum, and a' that ; 
But there it streams, and richly reauH^ 
My HeUcon I ca' thai. 

For a' that, &c. 
HI. 
Great love I bear to a' the fair. 
Their humble slave, and a* that ; 

* HTiner is aUotoed to be the oldest baUad eiager on re- 

cord. 



CHIEFLY Scottish. 31 

But lordly will I hold it slill 
A mortal sin to Ihraw that. 
For a' that, &c. 
IV. 
In raptures sweet, this hour we meet, 

Wi' mutual love, and a' that ; 
But for how lang the file may stang, 
Let inclination law that. 

For a' that, &c. 

V. 
Their triclts and craft have put me daft. 

They've ta'en me in, and a' that; 
But clear your decks, and here's the sex ! 

I like the j ads for a' that. 

For a' that, and a' that, 

And twice as muckle's a' that; 
My dearest bluid, to do them guid, 

TheyWe tselcome tilVt for a' that. 

RECITATIVO. 

So sung the bard — and Nansie's wa's 
Shook wi' a thunder of applause, 

Re-echo'd from each mouth : 
They toem'd their pocks, an' pawn'd their duda, 
They scarcely left to co'er iheir fuds 

To quench their lowan drouth. 

Then owre again, the jovial thrang 

The poet did request, 
To low'se his pack, an wale a sang, 
A ballad o' the best : 
He, rising, rejoicing, 

Between his twa Deborahs, 
Looks round him, an' found them 
Impatient for the chorus. 

AIR 
Tune — " Jolly mortals, fill your glasses." 



See the smoking bowl before us ! 

Mark our jovial, ragged ring! 
Round and round take up the chorus. 

And in raptures let us sing. 



POEJ.IS, 



'^ fig for those by law protected I 

Liberty's a glorious feast I 
Courts for cowards were erected^ 

Churches built to please the priest 

II. 

What is title? what is treasured 

What is reputation's care 1 
If we lead a life of pleasure, 

'Tis no matter how or where. 
A fig, &c. 

III. 

With the ready trick and fable, 

Round we wander all the day ; 
And at night, in barn or stable, 

Hug our doxies on the hay. 
A fig, &c. 

IV. 

Does the train attended carriage 

Thro' the country lighter rove 1 
Does the sober bed of marriage 1 

Witness brighter scenes of love t ! 

A fig, &c. 

V. 

Life is all a variorum, 

We regard not how it goes ; I 

Let t^eTn cant about decorum, ! 

Who have characters to lose. H 

A fig, &c I 

VI I 

Here's to budgets, bass, and walleta ; i 

Here's to all the waudering train ; | 

Here'sour ragged Jrote and co/fct*/ I 

One and all cry out, ^men / 



A fig for those by law protected! 

Liberty's a glorious feast I 
C4>urtsfor cowards were erected, 

Churches built to please thepriesL 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 
DEATH AND DR. HORNBOOK, 

A TRUE STORY. 

Some books are lies frae end to end, 
And some great lies were never penn'd : 
Ev'n ministers, they hae been kenn'd, 

In hoij' rapture, 
A rousing whid, at times to vend. 

And nail't wi' Scripture. 
But this that I am gaun to tell, 
Which lately on a night befell, 
Is just as truo's the Dell's in h-11 

Or Dublin city; 
That e'er he nearer comes oursel 

's a muckle pity. 
The Clachan yill had made me canty, 
I was nae fou, but just had plenty ; 
I Btacher'd whyles, but yet took tent ay 

To free the ditches ; 
An' hillocks, stanes, an' bushes, kenn'd ay 

Frae ghaists an' witches. 
The rising Moon began to glow'r 
The distant Cumnock hills out-owre ; 
To count her horns, wi' a' my pow'r, 

I set mysel ; 
But whether she had three or four, 

I cou'd na tell. 
I was come round about the hill. 
And todlin down on Willie's mill. 
Setting my staff wi' a' my skill. 

To keep me sicker ; 
Tho' leeward wliyles against my will, 

I took a bicker. 
I there wi' something- did forgather. 
That put mo in an eerie swither ; 
An awfu' scythe, out-owre ae shouther. 

Clear dangling hang ; 
A three-tae'd leisler on the ither 

Lay, large an' lang. 

Its stature seem'd lang Scotch ells twa, 
The queerest shape that e'er I saw. 
For fient a wame it had ava ! 

And then, its shanks, 
They were as thin, as sharp, an' sma' 

As cheeks o' branks ! 



! 
I 
j- 

34 POEMS, 

" Guid-e'en," quo' I ; " Friend ! hae ye been mawbt 
When ither folk are busy tsawinl"* 
It seem'd to mak a kind o' stan'. 

But naetliing spak ; 
I At length, says I, " Friend, whare ye gaun 1 

I ! Will ye go back 7" 

1 1 It spak right howe— " My name is Deathf 

j I But be na ffey'd."- Q.uo' I, " Guid faith! 

Ye're may be come to stap iny breath ; 
1 1 But tent me, billie ; 

j j I red ye weel, tak care o' skaith, 

! 1 See, there's a gully I" 

I ; " Gudeman," quo' he, " put up your whittle, 

I'm no design' d to try its mettlt* ; 
But if I did, I wad be kittle 

To be mislear'd, 
I wad na mind it, no that spittle 

Out-owie my beard." 

" Weel, weel !" says I, " a bargain be't; 
Come, gie's your hand, an' sae we're gree't ; 
We'll ease our shanks, an' tak a seat, 

Come, gie's your news ; 
This whylef ye hae been monle a gate, 
At monie a house." 

" Ay, ay '." quo' he, an' shook his head, 
" It's e'en a lang, lang time indeed 
Sin' I began to nick the iread. 

An' choke the breath : 
Folk maun do something for their bread, 

An' sae maun Dea^. 

" Sax thousand years are near hand fled 
Sin' I was to the hutching hred, 
An' monie a scheme in vaoi's been laid, 

Tostaporycor me; 
Till ane HomlooWsX ta'eii up *he trade, 
An' faith, he'll waur inc. 



* This rencontre happened in seed-time, 1785. 

t Jin epidemical fever teas f> n racing in that tovntry, 

X This gentlem,an,Dr. Hornbook, ts,profe^*umallf, ahrC' 

ther of the sovereign order of the Ferula, btU, by intMiOtm 

and iiupiration, is at once an apothecary, snrgecn and phy- 

tician. 



CHIEFL Y SCO TTISH. 35 

* Ye ken Jock Hombrook V the Clachan, 
Deil mak his king's-hood in a spleuchaii ! 
He's grown sae weel acquaint wi' Buckan* 

An' ither chaps, 
The weans hand out their fingers laughin, 

An' pouk my hips. 

" See, here's a scythe, and there's a dart, 
They hae pierc'd tnonie a gallant heart ; 
BhI Doctor Hornbook, wi' his art, 
And cursed skill, 
Has made them baith no worth a f— t, 

D-mn'd haet they'll kill ! 

" Twas but yestreen, nae fartlier gaen, 
I threw a noble throw at ane ; 
Wi' less I'm sure, I've Inindreds slain ; 

But deilma-care, 
It just play'd dirl on the bane. 

But did nae mair. 

" Hornbook was by, wi' ready art, 
And had sae fortified the part, 
That when I looked to my dart. 

It was sae blunt, 
Fient haet o't wad hae pierc'd the heart 

Of a kail-runt. 

" r drew my scythe in sic a fury, 
I near hand cowpit wi' my hurry, 
But yet the bauld Apothecary 

Withstood the shock ; 
1 might as weel hae try'd a quarry 
O' hard whin rock. 

"Ev'n thern he canna gel attended, 
Altho' their face he ne'er had kenn'd it, 
Just— In a kail-blade, and send it. 

As soon's he smells't, 
Balth their disease, and what will mend it, 
At once he tells't. 

" And then a' doctor's saws and whittles 
Of a' dimensions, shapes, an' mettles, 
A' kind o' boxes, mugs, an' bottles, 

He's sure to hae ; 
Their Latin names as fast he rattles 

As A 3 C. 

* Enchants Domestic J*TcdurJni& 



POEMS, 

" Calces o' fossils, earth, and trees ; 
1 rue sal-marinum o' the seaa ; 
The farina of beans and peas, 

He has't in plenty; 
Aqua-fontis, what you please, 

He can content ye 

" Forbye some new, uncommon weapons, 
Urinus spiritus of capons ; 
Or mite-horn shavings, filings, scrapings, 

Distiirdper se; 
Sal alkali o' midge-tail-clippings, 

And monie mae." 

" Wans me for Johnny Ged's HoW* now," 
Q.UO' I, " if that the news be true ! 
His braw calf-ward whare gowans grew, 

Sae white and bonie, 
Nae doubt they'll rive it wi' tlie pleugh : 

They'll ruin JoJmny I" 

The creature grain'd an eldritch laugh, 
And says, " Ye need na yoke the plough ; 
Kirkyaids will soon be till'd eneugh, 

Tak ye nae fear : 
They'll a' be trench'd wi' monie a sbcugb, 

In twa-three year. 

" Whare I kill'd ane a fair strae death, 
By loss o' blood or want o' breath, 
This night I'm free to tak my aith, 

That Hornbook's skill 
Has clad a score i' their last claith, 
By drap an' pill. 

" An honest Wabster to his trade, 
VVhase wife's twa nieves were scarce well bred. 
Gat tippence-worth to mend her head, 

When it was sair ; 
The wife slade cannie to her bed. 

But ne'er spak mair. 

" A countra Laird had taen the batta, 
Or some curniurring in his guts. 
His only son for Hornbook sets, 

An' pays him well 
The lad, for twa guid gimmer pets, 

Was Laird himseL 



The grave-digger 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 37 

A bonie lass, ye keiin'd her name, 
ne Ui-brewn drink had hov'd her wama 
She trusts hersel, to hide tlie shame, 

In Hornbook'' s care ; 
Horn sent her aff to her lang hame, 
To hide it there. 

♦' That's just a swatch o' Hornbook's way 
Thus goes he on from day to day, 
Thus does he poison, kill, an' slay, 

An's weel paid for't; 
Yet stops me o' my lawfu' prey, 

VVi' his d-mn'd dirt. 
"But hark ! I'll tell you of a plot, 
The' dinna ye be speaking o't : 
I'll nail the self-conceited sot, 

As dead's a herrin ; 
Niest time we meet, I'll wad a groat, 

He gets his fairin !" 

But just as he began to tell. 
The auld kirk-hammer strak the bell 
Some wee short hour ayont the twal, 

Which rais'd us baith ; 
I took the way that pleas'd mysel, 

And sae did Death. 



A DREAM. 

Thoughts, words, and deeds, the statute blames toith reason: 
But surely dreams were ne'er indicted treason. 

[On reading, in the public papers, tlie LaureaVs Ode, with 

the other parade of June 4, 1786, the author was no sooner 

I dropt asleep than he imagined himself transported to the 

' bu-th-day levee ; and in his dreaming fancy made the follew- 

ing address.} 

GuiD morning to your J\Iajesty ! 
I May heav'n augment your blisses, 

I On every new birth-day ye see, 

i An humble poet wishes ! 

j My hardship here, at your levee, 

j On sic a day as this is, 

Is sure an uncouth sight to see, 
Amang thae birth-day dresses 
Sae fine thH rtay. 



I 

i 
i 

1 38 POEMS, 


( 




II. 






I see ye're complimented thrang, 






By monie a lord and lady ; 




1 


" God save the king !" 's a cuckoo sangi 




! 


That's unco easy said ay ; 




j 


The Poets, too, a venal gang, 




i 


Wi' rhymes weel-turn'd and ready. 






Wad gar ye trow ye ne'er do wrang, 




1 


But ay unerring steady, 




! 


On sic a day. 






IIL 




j 
1 


For me ! before a monarch's face, 




1 


Ev'n there I winria flatter ; 






For neither pension, post, nor place, 




i 


Am I your humble debtor ; 






So, nae reflection on ijour grace, 






Your kingship to bespatter ; 






There's monie waur been o' the race, 




i 


And aiblins ane been better, 




1 

i. 


Than you this day. 






IV. 




\ 


'Tis very true, my sov'reign king, 




i 


My skill may weel be doubted ; 




1 


But "facts are chiels that winna ding, 






An' downa be disputed : 






Your royal nest, beneath your wing, 






Is e'en right reft an' clouted, 






And now the third part of the string. 




! 


An' less, will gang about it 


1 




Than did ae day. 
V. 

Far be't frae me that I aspire 


1 




1 


i 


To blame your legislation, 




j 


Or say, yc wisdom want, or fire. 




j 


To rule this mighty nation ! 


i 


1 


But faith ! I muckle doubt, my Sire; 






Ye've trusted ministration 






To chaps, wha, in a barn or byre, 




i 


Wad better fill'd their station 


1 


1 


Than courts yon day. 






VI. 




1 


And now ye've gien auld Britain peaee. 




1 


Her broken shins to plaster ; 




1 


Your sair taxation does her fleece, 




1 

! 

i 
1 

1' 


Till she has scarce a tester ; 





CS1F.FLY SCOTTISH. • 

For me, thai>k Ood, my life's a lease, 

Noe bargain wearing faster, 
Or, faith ! 1 fet , that wi' tiie geese, 

I shortly boo I to pasture 

I' the craft some day. 

VU. 

I'm no mistrm'iag Willie Pitt, 

When taxes l.e enlarges, 
(An' miVs a tiue guid fallow's get, 

\ name not envy spairges,) 
Thai he intemls to pay your debt. 

An' lessen i ' ^/ou^ charges ; 
But, G-d sak'i ! let nae saving-Jit 

Abridge your bonie barges 

An' boats tliis day. 

VIII. 
Adieu, my JAcge ! may freedom geek 

Beneath ymr hi^'h protection ; 
An' may ye rax corruption's neck, 

And gie lior for dissection ! 
But since I'm here, I'll no neglect, 

In loyal, true affection, 
To pay your Queen, with due respect, 

My fealty an' subjection, ^. ^ ^ 
' This great birth-day. 

IX. 

Hail, Majesty most excellent! 

While nobles strive to please ye, 
VVili ye accept a coiupliment 

A simple Poet gies ye 1 , ^ , » 
Thae bonie bairn-time, Heav'n has lent. 

Still higher may they heeze ye 
In bliss, till fate some day is sent, 

For ever to release ye 

Frae care that day. 

X. 

For you, young potentate o' W , 

1 tell your highness fairly, 
Down pleasure's stream, wi' swellmg sails, 

I'm tauld ye'i e driving rarely ; 
But some day y? may gnaw your nails, 

An' curse yo ir folly sairly, 
That e'er ye bi ak Diana's pales, 

Or raltl'd dice wi' Charlie, 
By night or day. 



40 POEMS, 

XI. 

Yet aft a ragged cowte's been known 

To ma k a noble aivcr ; 
So ye may doucely fill a tlirone, 

For a' their clisli-ma-claver : 
There him* at Aginconrt wha shone, 

Few better were or braver ; 
And yet, wi' funny, queer Sir Jobn,t 

He was an unco shaver 

For moaie a day. 

XII. 

For you, right rev'rend O ^ 

Nane sets the lawn-sleeve sweeter, 
Altho' a riband at your lug 

Wad been a dress completer : 
As ye disown yon paughty dog 

That bears the keys of Peter, 
Then, swith ! an' get a wife to hug. 

Or, trouth ! ye'll stain the mitre 
Some luckless day 

XIII. 

Young, royal Tarry Breaks, I learOt 

Ye' ve lately come athwart her ; 
A glorious galleijiX stem an' stem. 

Well rigg'd for Venus' barter ; 
But first hang out, that she'll discern 

Your hymenial character, 
Then heave abroad your grapple air, 

An' large upo' her quarter, 

Come full that day. 

XIV. 

Ye, lastly, bonie blossoms a', 

Ye royal lasses dainty, 
Heav'n mak you guid as weel's braw. 

An' gie you lads a-plenty ; 
But sneer na British boys awa'. 

For kings are unco scant ay ; 
An' German gentles are but sma'. 

They're better just than want ay 
On onie day. 

* King Henry V. 

\ Sir John Falstaff. Vide Shakspeare, 
t Alluding to the newspaper account of a certain royoi 
sailor's amour. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 
XV 

God bless you a' ! consider now, 

Ye'ro unco muckle dautet ; 
But ere the course o' life be Uiro', 

It may be bitter sautet : 
An' I hae seen their coggie fou, 

That yet hae tarrow'd at it ; 
But or the day v;as done, I trow, 

The laegen they hae clautct 

Fu' clean that day. 



SCOTCH DRES'K. 
Oie him strong drink until fie loinky 

ThaVs sinking in despair; 
j37i' liguor guid to fire his bluid. 

That's prest icV grief an" care; 
There let him bouse, an" deep carouse, 

TVV bumpers flowing o'er, 
Till he forgets his loves or debts, 
And minds his griefs no more. 

Solomon's Proverbs, xxxi. 6, 7 
Let other Poets raise a fracas 
'Bout vines, an' wines, an' drunken Bacchus, 
An' crabbit names an' stories wrack us, 

An grate our lug, 
I ang the juice Scots bear can mak us, 
In glass or jug. 

O thou, my Muse I guid auld Scotch Drink, 
Whether thro' wimplin worms thou jink, 
Or, richly brown, ream o'er the brink, 

In glorious faem. 
Inspire me, till I lisp and wink, 

To sing thy name '. 
Let husky Wheat the haughs adorn. 
An' Aits set up their a^vnie horn, 
An' Peas an' Beans at e'en or mom, 

Perfume the plain, 
Lecze me on thee, John Barleycorn, 

Thou king o' gram ! 
On thee aft Scotland chows her cood, 
In Bouple scones, the wale o' food ! 
Or tumblin in the boiling flood 

Wi' kail an' beef; 
But when thou pours thy strong heart's blixxl, 

There thou shines chief. 



POEMS, 

Food fills the wame, an' keeps us livin ; 
Tiio' life's a gift no worth receivin, 
When heavy dragg'd wi' pine an' grievin ; 

But, oil'd by thee. 
The wheels o' life gae down-hill, scrievin, 

Wi' rattlin glee. 

Thou clears the head o' doited Lear : 
Thou cheers the heart o' drooping Care ; 
Thou strings the nei-ves o' Labour sair, 

At's weary toil : 
Thou even brightens dark Despair 

Wi' gloomy smile. 

Aft, clad in massy silver weed, 
Wi' gentles thou erects thy head ; 
Yet humbly kind in time o' need, 

The poor man's wine, 
His wee drap parritcli, or his bread. 

Thou kitchens fine. 

Thou art the life o' public haunts; 
But thee, what were our fairs and rants 1 
Ev'n godly meetings o' the saunts, 

By thee inspir'd, 
When gaping they besiege the tents, 

Are doubly fir'd. 

That merry night we gat the corn in, 
O sweetly then thou reams the horn in! 
Or reeking on a new year morning 

In cog or bicker, 
An' just a wee drap sp'ritual burn in, 
An' gusty sucker ! 

When Vulcan gies his bellows breath, 
An' ploughman gather wi' their graitli, 
() lare to see thee fizz an' freath, 

I' th' lugget caup ! 
Then Burnewin* comes on like death 
At ev'ry cliaup. 

Nae mercy, then, for aim or steel ; 
The brawnie, bainie, ploughman chie!. 
Brings hard owrehip, wi' sturdy wheel, 

The strong forehammer. 
Till block an' studdie ring an' reel 

Wi' dinsome claraoun 



^ Burnewin— bum-the-wind—\he Blacbsmltb 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 43 

When skiilin weanies see the light, 
Thou maks the gossips clatter bright, 
How fumblin cuifs their dearies slight ; 

Wae worth the namo ; 
Nae howdie gets a social night, 

Or plack frae tliem. 

When neebors anger at a plea, 
An' just as wud as wud can be, 
How easy can the barley-bree 

Cement the quarrel ! 
It's aye the cheapest lawyer's fee, 

To taste the barrel. 

Alake ! that e'er my Muse has reason 
To wyte her countrymen wi' treason ! 
But raonie daily weet their weason 

Wi' liquors nice, 
An' hardly, in a winter's season, 

E'er spier her price. 

Wae worth that brandy, burning trash ! 
Fell source o' monie a pain an' brash ! 
Twins monie a poor, doylt, drunken hash, 

O' half his days ! 
An' sends, beside, auld Scotland's cash 

To her warst faes. 

Ye Scots wha wish auld Scotland well, 
Ye chief, to you my tale I tell, 
Poor plackless devils like mysel ! 

It sets you ill, 
Wi' bitter, deathfu' wines to mell. 

Or foreign gill. 

May gravels round his blether wrench, 
An' gouts torment him inch by inch, 
Wha twists his gruntle wi' a glunch 

O' sour disdain, 
Oul-owre a glass o' whiskey punch 

Wi' honest meru 

O whiskey ' soul o' plays an' pranks ! 
Accept a Bardie's humble tlianks ! 
When wanting thee, what tuneless cranks 

Are my poor verses I 
Thou comes— they rattle i' their ranks 
At ither's a— s ! 
Thee, Ferintosh! O sadly lost! 
Scotland, lament frae coast to coast! 



44 POEMS, 

Now colic grips, an' barkin boast, 

May kill us a' ; 
For loyal Forbes^ charter'd boast. 

Is taen awa 1 
Thae curst horse-leeches o' th' Excise, 
Wha mak the whiskey stells the prize ! 
Haud up thy hau', Dei! ! ance, twice, thrice, 

There, seize the blinkers ! 
An' bake them up in brunstane pies 

For poor d — n'd drinkers. 
Fortune ! if thou' 11 but gie me still 
Hale breeks, a scone, an' ichiskeij gill, 
An' rovvth o' rhyme to rave at will, 

Tak a' the rest, 
An' deal't about as thy blind skill 

Directs thee best. 



THE A UTHOR'S EARJ^EST CRYJlJ^D PRAYER'* 

TO THE SCOTCH REPRESENTATTVES IN THE HOUSB OF 
COMJIONS. 

Dearest of distillation I last and best— 
— How art thou lost I — 

Parody on Milton. 
Ye Irish Lords, ye Knights an' Squires, 
Wlia represent our burghs an' shires, 
An' doucely manage our aflairs 

In parliament, 

To you a siinple Poet's prayers 

Are humbly sent 

Alas ! my roupet Muse is hearse I " | 

Your honours' heart wi' grief twad pieicCi I 

To see her sittin on her a — e 

Low i' the dust, 
An' scriechin out prosaic verse, 
An' like to brust ! 
Tell them wha hae the chief direction, 
Scotland an' me's in great affliction, 
E'er sin' they laid that curst restriction 

On Aquavitffi ; 
An' rouse them up to strong conviction, 
An' move their pity. 

♦ This was written before the act anent the Scotch distH- 
leries, of session 1786 ; for which Scotland and the author 
return their most grateful thanks. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. «» 

Stand forth, an' tell yon Premier youth, 
Thehonest, open, naked truth; 
Ten him 0' mine an' Scotland's drouth, 

His servants humble : 
The muckle Devil blaw ye south, | 

If yc dissemble ! j 

Does onie great man ?lunch an' gloom! 
Speak out, an' never fash your thumb! 
Let posts an' pensions smk or soom 

^ Wi' them wha grant em : 

Ifhonestly they canna come, 

Far better want 'em. 

In gath'ring votes you were na slack ; 
Now stand as tightly by your tack ; 
Ne'er claw your luc, an' tidge your back, 

An' hum an' haw ; 
But raise your arm, an' tell your crack 

Before them a'. 

Paint Scotland greeting owre her thrissle ; 
Her mutchkin stoup as toom's a whissie ; 
An' d-mn'd excisemen in a bussle, 

Seizin a stell, 
Triumphant crushin't like a mussel 
*^ Or lampit shell. 

Then on the tither hand present her, 
A blackguard smuggler right behint her, 
An cheek-for-chow, achutiie Vmtner 

Colleaguing join. 
Picking her pouch as bare as winter 
Ofa' kind com. 

IB there, that bears the name o' Scot, 
But feels his heart's bluid usmg hot, 
To see his poor auld mither's pot 

Thus dung m staves, 
An' plunder'd o' her hinduio^t groat 

By gallows knaves 1 

Alas ! I'm but a nameless wight, 
Trode I' the mire an' out o' sight . 
But could I like Montgomenes fight, 

Or cab like Boswel!, 
There's eome sark necks I wad draw tight, 

An' tie some liose well. 



«6 POEMS, 

God bless your honours, can ye see't, 
The kind, auld, cantie Carlin greet, 
An' no get warmly to your feet, 

An' gar them hear it, 
An' tell them wi' a patriot heat, 

Ye winna bear it! 

Some o' you nicely ken the laws, 
To round the period, an' pause, 
An' w' the rhetoric clause on clause 

To mak harangues ; 
Then echo tliro' Saint Stephen's wa'a 

Auld Scotland's vvrangs. 

Dempster, a true-blue Scot Fse warran i 
Thee, aith-detesliug, chaste Kilkerran;* 
An' that glib-gabbet highland Baron, 

The Laird o' Graham;^ 
An' ane, a chap that's d-ran'd auld farran, 

Dundas his name. 

Erskine, a spunkie Norland billie ; 
True Campbells, Frederick an' Hay; 
All' Livingstone, tlie bauld Sir Willie; 

An' monie ithers, 
Whom auld Demosthenes and Tully 

Might own for br ithers. 

Arouse, my boys ! exert your mettle, 
To get auld Scotland back her kettle; 
Or, faith ! I'll wad my new pleugh-pettle, 

Ye'll see't or lang, 
She'll teach you wi' a reekin whittle, 
Anither sang. 

This while she's been in crankous mood, 
Her lost Militia fir'd her bluid ; 
(Deil na they never mair do guid, 

Play'd her that pliskie!) 
An' now she's like to rin red-wud. 

About her whiskey. 

An' L— d, if ance they pit her tlll't, 
Her tartan petticoat she'll kilt, 
An' du-k an' pistol at her belt. 

She'll tak the streets, 
An' rin her whittle to the hilt, 
i r the first she meets 

* Str Adam Ferguson. t The present Duke qf MoOt' 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. ^' 

For G-d's sake, Sirs ! then speak her fair 
An' straik her cannic wi' the hair, 
An' to the muckle liouse repair, 

Wi' instant sp^d, 
An' strive wi' a' your wits an' lear, 

To get rcmead. 

Yon ill-tongu'd tinkler, Charlie Fox, 
May taunt you wi' liis jeers an' mocks ; 
But gie him't het, my hearty cocks! 

E'en cowe the caddie : 
An' Bend him to his dicinf; box 

An' sporting lady. 
Tell yon guid bluid o' an Id Boconnock's 
I'll be his debt twa mashlum bonnocks, 
An' drink his health in auld J^anse Tinnock *-* 

Nine times a week. 
If he some scheme, like tea an' winnocks, 

Wad kindly seek. 
Could he some commutation broach, 
I'll pledge my aith in guid braid Scotch, 
He need na fear their foul reproach 

Nor erudition, ^ 

Yon mixtia-maxtie queer hotch-potch, 

The Coalition. 
Auld Scotland has a raucle tongue • 
She's just a devil wi' a rung ; 
An' if she promise auld or young 

To tak their part, 
Tho' by the neck she should be strung. 

She'll no desert. 

An' now, ye chosen Five- and- Forty, 
May still your mither's heart supjiorl ye ; 
Then, though a minister grow dorty 
An' kick your place, 
Ye'll snap your fingers, poor an' hearty. 
Before his face. 

God bless your honours a' your days, 
Wi' sowps o' kail an' braits o' claise. 
In spite o' a' the thievish kaes, 

Tliat haunt Saint Jamie'' s I 
Your humble poet sings an' prays 

Wliile Rab his name is. 

• A worthy old hostess of the author's in Mnnch line, ' 
where he sometimes studies politics over a glass of guid auld 
Bcotcb drink. 



48 POEMS, 

POSTSCRIPT. 

Let half-starved slaves, in warmer ekies, 
See future wines, rich-clust'ring, rise ; 
Their lot auld Scotl.and ne'er envies, 

But blythe and frisky, 
She eyes her free born, martial boys 

Tak aff their whiskey. 

What tho' their Phoebus kinder warms, 
While fragrance blooms and beauty charms ! 
When wretches range, in famish'd swarms, 

The scented groves ; 
Or hounded forth, dishonour arms 

In hungry droves ! 

Their gun's a burden on their shouther ; 
Tiiev downa bide the stink o' pouther ; 
Their bauldest thought's a hank'ring swithei 

To Stan' or lin, 
All skelpt— a shot;— they're aff a throwther. 
To save their skin. 

But bring a Scotsman frae his hill, 
Clap in his cheek a Highland gill. 
Say, such is royal George's will, 

An' there's the foe. 
He has nae thought but how to kill 

Twa at a blow. 

Nae cauld, faint-hearted doubtings tease him ; 
Death comes, wi' fearless eye he sees him ; 
Wi' bluidy hand a welcome gies him : 

An' when he fa's. 
His latest draught o' brethin lea'es him 
In faint huzzas. 

Sages their solemn een may steek, 
An' raise a philosophic reek, 
An' physically caTises seek, 

In clime an' season ; 
But tell me whiskmfs name in Greek, 

I'll tell the reason. 

Scotland^ my auld respected mither ! 
Tbo' whyles ye moistify your leather. 
Till what ye sit, on craps o' heather, 

Ye tin your dam ; 
{Fitedotn and whiskey gang theglther !) 
TakaffyourdramJ 



CHIEFL Y SCO TTISH. 49 



ADDRESS TO THE DEIL. 

O Prince I O Chief of many throned PowWs, 
That led the embattled Seraphim to war. 

BIlLTOM. 

O THOU ! whatever title suit thee, 
Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie, 
VVlia in yon cavern, grim an' sootie, 

Cioa'd under hatches, 
Spairges about the brunstane cootie, 

To scaud poor wretches ! 

Hear mo, auld Ilangie, for a wee, 
An' let poor damned bodies be ; 
I'm sure sma' pleasure it can gie. 

E'en to a JDeil, 
To skelp an' scaud poor dogs like me, 

An' hear us squeel ! 

Great is thy power, an' great thy fame ; 
Far kenn'd and noted is thy name ; 
An' the' yon lowin heugh's thy liame, 

Thou travels far ; ■ 

An' faith thou's neither lag nor lame, ! 

Nor blate nor scaur. \ 

Whyies ranging like a roarin lion, | 
For prey, a' holes an' corners tryin ; 

Whylea on the strong-wing'd tempest flyin, i 

Tirlin the kirks ; ! 

Whyies in the human bosom pryin, i 

Unseen thou lurks. 

I've heard my reverend grannie say, l 

In lanely glens ye like to stray ; i 

Or where auld, ruin'd castles, gray, 1 

Nod to the moon, j 

Ye fright the nightly wand'rer's way, i 

Wi' eldritch croon. ; 

When twilight did my grannie summon, j 

To say her prayers, douce, honest woman I i 

Aft yont the dyke she's heard you hummin I 

VVi' eerie drone ; j 

Or ruatlin thro' tlie bootries comin, I 

Wi' heavy groan. j 

Ae dreary, windy, winter night, I 

TLc Biars ebot down wi' eklentin light ; i 



80 POEMS, 

Wi' you, mysel, I gat a fright, 

Ayonl the lough : 
Ye, like a rash-bush, stood in sight, 
Wi' waving sugh. 
The cudgil in my nieve did shake. 
Each bristl'd hair stood like a stake, 
When, wi' an eldritch stour, quaick— quaick— 

Amang the springs, 
Awa' ye squatter'd, like a drake, 
On whistling wings. 
Let warlocks grim, an' wither'd hags. 
Tell now wi' you on ragweed nags, 
They skim the muirs, an' dizzy crags, 
I Wi' wicked speed ; 

j And in kirkyards renew their leagues, 

Owre howkit dead. 
Thence coiintra wives, wi' toil, an' pain, 
May plunge an' plunge the kirn in vain ; 
For, oh ! the yellow treasure's taen 

By witching skill : 
An' dawtit, twal-pint Hawkie's gaen 
As yell's the Bill. 
Thence mystic knots mak great abuse. 
On young guidmen, fond, keen, an' crouse ; 
When the best wark-lume i' the house 

By cantrip wit, 
Is instant made no worth a louse, 
Just at tlie bit. 
When thowes dissolve the snawy hoord ; 
And float the jingling icy-boord, 
Then water -kelpies haunt the foord, 

By your direction, 
An' nighted trav'llers are allur'd 

To their destruction. 

An' aft your moss-traversing Spunkies 
Decoy the wight that late an' drunk Is: 
The bleezin, curst, mischievous monkies 

I Delude his eyes. 

Till in sonae miry slough lie sunk is, 

I Ne'er mair to rise. 

When Mason's mystic word an' grip 
I In storms an' tempests raise you up, 

I Some cock or cat your rage maun stop, 

Or, strange to tell ! 
The youngest brother ye wad whip 
Aff straught to h-ll. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 

Long syne, in Eden's bonie yard, 
When youthfu' lovers first were pair'd, 
An' a' tlie sauI of love they shar'd 
The raptur'd hour ; 
Sweet on the fragrant flow'ry swaird, 
In shady bow'r: 

Then you, ye auld, snick-drawing dog . 
Ye came to Paradise incog: 
An' play'd on man a cursed brogue, 

(Black be your fa' !) 
An' gied the infant warld a shog, 

'Maist ruin'd a'. 

D'ye mind that day, when in a bizz, 
Wi' reekit duds, an' reestit gizz, 
Ye did present your smoutie phiz, 

'Mang better folk, 
An' sklented on the wan of Ui 

Yourspitefu joke? 

An' how ye gat him i' your thrall, 
An' brak him out o' house an' hall, 
While scabs and blotches did him gall, 

Wi' bitter claw. 
An' lows'd his ill-tongu'd wicked Scawl, 

Was warst ava"? 

But a' your doings to rehearse, 
Your wily snares an' fetchin fierce. 
Bin' that day Michael* did you pierce, 

Down to this time, 
Wad ding a' Lalland tongue, or Erse, 

In prose or rhyme. 

An' now, auld Cloots, I ken ye're thinkin 
A certain Bardie's rantin, drinkin. 
Some luckless hour will send him linkin, 

To your black pit ; 
But, faith, he'll turn a corner jinkin, 

An' cheat you yet. 

But, fare you weel, auld J^ickie-ben I 
O wad ye tak a thought an' men' 
Ye aJblms might— I dinna ken- 
Still hae a stake — 
I'm wae to tliink upo' your den. 

Ev'n for yoiu sake ! 



* Vide MtlttAi, Book VL 



52 POEMS, 



I ON THE LATE CAPTAIN GROSE'S 

j I PERKORINATIONS THROUGH SCOTLAND, COLLKCTINO ' 
I ANTIQUITIES OF THAT KINGDOM. 

I j Hear, land o' cakes, and brither Scots, 

1 Frae Maidenkirk to Johnny Groat's 



If there's a hole in a' your coats, 

I '•ede ye tent it : 
A chiel's amang j'ou taking notes. 

And, faith, he'll prent it. 

If in your bounds ye chance to light, 
Upon a fine, fat, fodgil wight, 
O' stature short, but genius bright, 

That's he, mark weel — 
And vow ! he has an unco slight 

O' eauk and keel. 

By some auld, houlet-haunted-biggin,* 
Or kirk deserted by its riggin, I 

It's ten to ane ye' 11 find him snug in j 

Some eldritch part, 
Wi' Deils, they say, L — d safe's ! colleaguin 
At some black art. 

Ilk ghaist that haunts auld ha' or cham'er, 
Ye gipsey-gang that deal in glamor. 
And you, deep-read in hell's black grammar 

Warlocks and witches ; 
Ye'll quake at his conjuring hammer, 

Ye midnight b es. 

It's tauld he was a sodger bred, 

And ane wad rather fa'n than fleid ; 

But now he's quat the spurtle blade. 

And dog-skin wallet, 

And taen the — Antiquarian trade, 

I think they caU it 

He has a feuth o' auld nick-nackets ! j 

Rusty aim caps and jinglin jackets,! I 

Wad hand the Lolhians three in tackets, 

A towmont guid ; 
And parritch-pats, and auld saut-backeta, 
Before the flood. 

• Fide his Antiquities of Scotland. 

f Fide his Treatise on Ancient Armour and Wsapone* 



II 

P ^ : i 



I CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 53 

Of Sve's first fire he has a cinder ; 
Auld-Tubal Cain's fire-shool and fender ; 
That which distinguished the gender 

O' Balaam's ass ; 
A broom-stick o' tlie witch of Endor, 

VVeel shod wi' brass, 

Forbye he'll shape you aff, fu' gleg, 
The cut of Adam's pbilibeg : 
The knife that nicket Abel's craig 

Ile'il prove you fully. 
It was a faulding joctelcg, 

Or lang kail-guillie. 

But wad ye see him in his glee, 
For meikle glee and fun has he, 
Then set him down, and twa or three 
Guid fellows wi' him : 
And port, port I shine thou a wee, 
And then ye'll see hina : 

Now, by the powers o' verse and prose ! 
Thou art a dainty chiel, O Grose ! 
Whae'er o' thee shall ill suppose, 

They sair misca' thee ; 
I'd tak the rascal by tlie nose, 

Wad say. Shame fa' thee ! 



LIKES 

WRITTEN IN A WRAPPER, ENCLOSING A LETTER TO CAPTAIN 
«KOSE, TO BK LEFT WITH MR. CARDONNEL, ANTIQUARIAN. 

Tune—'' Sir John Malcolm." 

Ken ye aught o' Captain Grose 1 

Igo, and ago. 
If he's amang his friends or foes 1 

I ram, coram, dago. 
Is he south, or is he north 7 

Igo, and ago, 
Or drowned in the river Forth 1 

Iram, coram, dago. 
Is he slain by Highland bodies ? 

Igo, and ago. 
And eaten like a weather ha^is 1 

Iram, coram, dago 



POEMS, 

Is he to Abram's bosom gane 1 

Igo, and ago, 
Or hauden Sarah by the wane t 

Irani, coram, dago. 

Where'er he be, the Lord be near him! 

Igo, and ago, 
As for the Deil, he durst na steer him, 

Iram, coram, dago. 

But please transmit the enclosed letter, 

Igo, and ago, 
Which will oblige your humble debtor, 

Iram, coram, dago. 

So may ye hae auld stanes in Btore, 

Igo, and ago. 
The very stanes that Adam bore. 

Iram, coram, dago. 

So may ye get in glad possession, 

Igo, and ago, 
The coins o' Satan's coronation ! 

Iram, coram, dago. 



EPIGRAM OJV CAPTAIJ^ GROSE, 



The Deil got notice that Grose was a-dying, j 

So whip ! at the summons, old Satan came flsing ; i 

But when he appioach'd where poor Francis lay moanfalg, 
And saw each bed-post with its burden a-groaning, 
Astonished ! confounded ! cry'd Satan, by G— d, 
I'll want 'im, ere I take such a d ble load.* 

* Mr. Grose was exceedingly covpulent, and used to rally 
himself with the greatest good htimour^ on the singular to* j 

tundity of his figure. This Epigram, written by Burns., in \ 

a moment of festivity, was so much relished by the antiqua- 
rian, that he made it serve as an excuse for prolonging the 
convivivl occasion that gave it birth to a very late hour. 



CHIEF L Y SCO TTISU. 
LINES 

ON AN INTERVIEW WITH LORD DAKR. 

This wot ye all whom it conceras, 
I Rhymer Robin, alias Burns, 

October twenty-tliird, 
A ne'er-to-be-forgotten day, 
Sae far I spreckled up the brae, 

I dinner' d wi' a Lord. 

I've been at drucken writers^ feasts, 
j Nay, been bitch fou 'niang godly priests, 

' Wi' rev'rence be it spoken : 

I've even join'd the honour'd jorum, 
When mighty squireships of the quorum. 
Their hydra drouth did sloken. 

But wi' a Lord— stand out my shin, 
A Lord— a Peer— an Earl's son, 

Up higher yet, my bonnet ; 
And sic a Lord— lang Scotch ells twa, 
Our peerage he o'erlooks them a'. 

As I look o'er my sonnet. 

But oh for Hogarth's magic pow'r J 
To show Sir Bardy's willyart glow'r, 

And how he star'd and stammer'd 
When goavan, as if led wi' branks, 
An' stumpin on his ploughman shanks, 

He in the parlour hammer'd. 



I sliding shelter'd in a nook. 
An' at his lordship steal't a look 

Like some portentous omen ; 
Except good sense and social glee, 
An' (what surpris'd me) modesty, 

I marked nought uncommon. 

I watch'd the s3miptoms o' the great, 
The gentle pride, the lordly state. 

The arrogant assuming ; 
The fient a pride, nae pride had he, 
Nor sauce, nor state, that I could see, 
Mair than an honest ploughman 



POEMSt 

Then from liis Lordship I shall learn, 
Henceforth to meet with m.concem 

One rank as well's another : 
Nae honest, worthy man need care. 
To meet with noble, youthful Daer, 

For he but meets a brother. 



THE IJ\rVEJyTORYf 

TO A MANDATE BY THE SURVEYOR OF THB TAZBI* 

Sir, as your mandate did request, 
I send you here a faithfu' list, 
O' gudes an' gear, an' a' my graith, 
To which I'm clear to gie my aith. 

Imprimis tlien, for carriage cattle, 
I have four brutes o' gallant mettle, 
As ever drew afore a pettle. 
My Lan'' af ore's* a guid auld has-been. 
An' wight an' wilfu' a' his days been. 
My /.o«' ahin'st a weel gaun fiUie, 
That aft has borne me hame frae Killie,t 
An' your auld burro' monie a time, 
In days when riding was nae crime — 

But ance when in my wooing pride j 

I, like a blockhead, boost to ride, i 

The wilfu' creature sae I pat to, I 

(L— d pardon a' my sins an' that too !) j 

I play'd my fillie sic a shavie, } 

She's a' bedevil'd wi' the spavie. I 

My Furr ahiji's'^ a wordy beast, ! 

As e'er in tug or tow was trac'd. 
The fourth's a Highland Donald hastie 
A d— n'd red-wud Kilburnie blastie • 
Forbye a Cowt o' Cowt's the wale 
As ever ran afore a tail. 

If he be spar'd to be a beast, j 

He'll draw me fifteen pun' at least. j 

Wheel carriages I hae but few, I 

Three carts, an' twa are feckly new ; | 

Ane auld wheel-barrow, mair for token j 

Ae leg an' baith the trams are broken ; | 



The fore-horse on the left-hand in the plough. 

The hindmost on the left-hand in the plough. 

Kilmarnock. 

Thi hindmost horse on the right-hand in the plough' 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. ff7 | 

I made a poker o' the spin'Ie, 
An' my auld mither brunl the trin'Ie. 

For men, I've tliree mischievous boys, 
Run deils for rantin and for noise ; 
A gaudsman aiie, a thrasher t'other, 
Wee Davock hands the novv^t in fother. 
I rule them as 1 ought, discreetly, 
An' after labour them completely. 
An' ay on Sundays duly nightly, 
I on the Uuestions targe tlsem tightly ; 
Till faitli! wee Davock's turn'd sae gleg, 
Tho' scarcely langer than your leg, 
He'll screed you aff Effectual Calling, 
As fast as onie in the dwalling. 
I've nane in female servan' station, 
(L — d keep me ay frae a' temptation .') } 

I hae na wife ; and that my bliss is, I 

An' ye have laid na tax on misses ; ] 

An' then if kirk folks dinna clutch me, 1 

1 ken the devils dare na touch me. j 

Wi' weans I'm mair than weel contented, 
Heav'n sent me ane mae than I wanted. 
My sonsie, smirking, dear-bought Bess, 
She stares the daddie in her face, 
Enough of aught ye like but grace ; 
But her, my bonle, sweet, wee lady, 
I've paid eneugh for l.ier already, 
An' gin ye tax her or her mither, 
B' the L— d, ye'se get them a' thegither. 

And now, remember, Rlr. Aiken, 
Nae kind of license out I'm takin : 
Frae this time forth, I do declare, 
I'ee ne'er ride horse nor hizzie mair; 
Thro' dirt and dub for life I'll paidle. 
Ere I sae dear pay for a saddle ; 
My travel a' on foot I'll shank it, 
've sturdy bearers, Gude be thankit. 

The kirk an' you may tak you that, 
It puts but little in your pat : 
Sae dinna put me in your buke. 
Nor for my ten white shillings luke. 

This list, wi' my ain hand I wrote it, 
Day and date as under notlt, 
Then know all ye whom it concerns, 
SubscHpsi hide, ROBERT BURNS. 

Jtfossgiel, Feb. 23, 1786. 
Vol. II. B 



POEMS, 
TO A LOUSE, 

ON BEEING ONE ON A LADY's BONNET AT CHT7KCS. 

Ha ! whare ye gaun, ye crowlin ferlie ! ! 

Your impudence protects you sairly ; j 

I canna say but ye strum rarely ^ 

Owre iiauze and lace ; j 

Tho' faith, I fear ye dine but sparely , 

On sic a place. 

Ye ugly, creepin, blastit wonner, , j 

Detested, shunn'd, by sannt and sinner, : i 

How dare ye set your fit upon her, \ \ 

Sac fine a lady '. ; j 

Gae somewhere else, and st;ek your dinnei , , 

On some poor body. ; 

Swith. in some beggar's haffet squattlo : 
There ye may creep, and sprawl, and eprattle 
Wi' ilher kindred jumpin cattle, 

In shoals and nations : 
Whare horn nor bane ne'er dare unsettle 

Your thick plantations, 
Now hand ye there, ye' re out o' sight, 
Below the fatl'rils, snug an' tight: 
Na, faith ye yet! ye' 11 no be right 

Till ye've got on it. 
The vera tapmost, tow' ring height, 

O' Miss's lionnet. 
My sooth ! right bauld ye set your nose out, 
As plump and gray as onie grozet ; 
O for some rank, mercurial rozet. 

Or fell red smeddum, 
Vd gie you sic a hearty doze o't. 

Wad dress your droddura '. 
I wad na been surpris'd to spy 
You on an auld wife's flainen toy; 
Or aibleus some bit duddie boy, 

On's wyliecoat ; 
But Miss's fine Lunardi ! fie. 

How dare you do't ! 
O, Jenny, dinna toss your head, 
An' set your beauties a' abread ! 
Ye little ken what cursed speed 

The blastie's makin ! 
Tbae winks and finger-ends, I dread, 

Are notice takin ! 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 

O wad some Pow'r the giftie gie us 
To see oursels as others see us ! 
It wad frae monie a blunder free us 
And foolish notion ; 
What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e ua. 
And ev'u Devotion ! 



ADDRESS TO THE TOOTH-ACHE. 
My curse upon thy venom'd stang, 
That shoots my tortur'd gums alang ; 
An' thro' my lugs gies monie a twang, 

Wi' gnawing vengeance ; 
Tearing my nerves wi' bitter pang, 

Like racking engines ! 
When fevers burn, or ague freezes, 
Rheumatics gnaw, or colic squeezes, 
Our-neighbour's sympathy may ease us, 

Wi' pitying moan; 
But thee— thou liell o' a' diseases, 

Ay mocks our groan ! 
Adown my beard the slavers trickle I 
I throw the wee stools o'er the mickle. 
As round the fire the giglets keckle 

To see me loup ; 
While raving mad I wish a heckle 

Were in their doup. 
O' a' the num'rous Imman dools, 
HI har'sts, daft bargains, cutty-stools^ 
Or worthy friends rack'd i' the mools. 

Sad sight to see ! 
The tricks o' knaves, or fash o' fool* 

Thou bear'st the gree. 
Where'er that place be priests ca' hell, 
Whence a' the tunes o' mis'ry yell. 
And ranked plagues their numbers tell. 

In dreadfu' raw, 
Tbou, Tooth-ache, surely bear'st the bell 

Arnang them a' I 
O thou grim mischief-making chiel. 
That gars the notes of discord squeel. 
Til! daft mankind aft dance a reel 

in gore a shoe-thick ; 
Gle a' the faes o' Scotland's wral 

A lownmond's Tooth-ache! 



II 

h 

POEMS, 
TO A HAGGIS. 

Fatr fa' your honest, sonsie face, 
Great chieftain o' the puddin-race ! 
Aboon them a' ye tak your place, 

Painch, tripe, or thairm: 
Weel are yo wordy o( a grace 

As lang's my arm. 

The groaning trencher there you fill, 
Your hurdles like a distant hill. 
Your pin wad help to mend a mill 

In time o' need, 
While thro' your pores the dews distil 

Like amber bead. 

His knife see rustic labour dight, 
An' cut you up wi' ready slight, 

Trenching your gushing entrails bright, j ! 

Like onie ditch ; j ] 

And then, O what a glorious sight, j i 

Warm-reeking, rich ! \ I 

Then horn for horn they stretch an' strive^ J i 

Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive ; LI 

Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve j i 

Are bent like drums, i j 

Then auld guidman, maist like to rive, | j 

Bethankit hums. ; | 

Is there that o'er his French ragout. 
Or olio that wad staw a sow, 
Otfricasse wad mak her spew 

Wi' perfect sconner. 
Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view 

On sic a dinner ? 



I Poor Devil ! see him owre his trashy 

! As feckless as a witlier'd rash, 

i His spindle-shank, a guid whip-lash, 

; His nieve anit; 

Thro' bloody flood or field to dash, 
O how fiunt ! 



But mark the rustic, haggis-fed, 
The trembling earth resounds his tread. 
Clap in his walie nieve a blade, i 

He'll mak it whistle : { 

Ab' 1^8, an' arms, an' heads will sned, 

Like taps o' thissle. ' 



I 
i 

jl 
i 

Jl 



CHIEFL y SCO TTISH. 61 

Ye Pow'rs wlia mak mankind your care, 
And dish them out their bilJ o' fare, 
Auld Scotland wants na skinking ware 

That jaups in luggies ; 
But, if ye wish her graiefu' pray'r, 

Gie her a Haggis ! 



THE HOLY FAIR.* 

Jl robe of seeming truth and trust 

Hid crafty Observation; 
And secret hung, with poison'' d crust, 

The dirk of Defamation : 
A mask that like the gorget showed, 

Dye-varyivg on the pigeon; 
And for a mantle large and broad, 

He wrapt him in Religion. 

Hypocrisy a-la-mode. 

I. 
Upom a simmer Sunday morn. 

When Nature's face is fair, 
I walked forth to view the corn, 

An' snuff the caller air, 
Tba rising sun owre Galslon niuirs, 

Wi' glorious light was glintin ; 
The hares were hirplin down the furs, 

The lav'rocks they were chantin 
Fu' sweet that day. 

II. 
As Hghtsomely I glowr'd abroad, 

To see a scene sae gay, 
Three Hizz-ies, early at the road 

Cam skelpln up the way ; 
Twa had manteeles o' dolefu' black, 

Bat ane wi' lyart lining ; 
The third, that eaed a-wee-a-back. 

Was in the fashion shining, 

Fu' gay that day. 

• Holy Pair is a common phrase in the west of Scotland 
Jbr a sacramental occasion. 



62 POEMS, 

III. 

The twa appear'd like sisters twin, 
In feature, form, an' claes ; 

Their visage, wiiher'd, lang, an' thin, 
An' sour as onie slaes ; 

The third cam up, hap-step-an'-loup, j ; 

As light as onie lambie, 1 ! 

An' wi' a curchie low did stoop, I \ 

I ; As soon as e'er she saw me, ! \ 

\\ Fu' liind that day. !; 

li Jv. I; 

j ; VVi' bonnet afl', quoth I, " Sweet lass, 1 

i \ I think ye seem to ken me ; 

{: I'm sure I've seen that bonie face, i 

1 1 But yet I canna name ye." ; i 

j i Quo' she, an' laughing as she spak, ■ 

I An' taks me by the hands, 

; " Ye, for my sake, hae gien the feck 

{ ' Of a' the ten commands I ; 
A screed some day. j | 

^' l! 

" My name is Fun— your cronie dear, I ; 

The nearest friend ye hae ; i ! 

An' this is Superstition here, j | 

An' that's Hypocrisy. j j 

I'm gaun to Holy Fair, 1 1 

To spend an hour in daffin ; i i 

Gin ye'll go thare, yon runki'd pair, I , 

We will get famous laughin j j 

At them this day." | ! 

VI. il 

Quoth I, " With a' my heart, I'll do't ; i j 

I'll get my Sunday's sark on, I j 

An' meet you on the holy spot ; j | 

Faith we'se hae fine remarkln !" i j 

Then I gaed hame at crowdie time, j i 

An' soon I made me ready ; j j 

For roads were clad, frae side to side, ] | 

Wi' monie a weary body, i ! 
In droves that day. 

vn. 

Here fumers gash, in ridin graith, 

Gaed hoddin by their cotters ; 
There, vwankies, young, In braw braid clotU 

Are iprlngin o'er the guttera ; 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 

The lasses, skelpin barefit, thrang, 

In silks an' ecarlets glitter; 
Wi' ameet-milk cheese, in monie a whang, 

An' farls bak'd wi' butter 

F«' crump tiiat day, 

VIII. 

When by tlie plate we set our nose, 

Weel heaped up wi' Iie'pence, 
A greedy glowr Black Bonnet throws, 

An' we maun draw our tijipence. 
Then in we go to see the show, 

On ev'ry side they're gatlirin. 
Some carrying dales, some chairs an' stool, 

An' some are busy bletlirin 

Riglit loud tliat day. 

IX. 
Here stands a shed to fend the show'rs, 

An' screen our countra gentry, 
There racer Jess, an' twa-tliree wh-res. 

Are blinkin at the entry. 
Here sits a raw of tiitlin jades, 

Wi' heaving breast ar.d bare neck, 
An' there a batcii of wabster lads, 

Blackguarding frae K ck, 

For fun this day. 

X. 
Here some are thinking on their sins, 

An' some upo' iheir claes ; 
Ane curses feet that fyl'd his shins, 

Anither sighs an' prays : 
On this hand sits a chosen swatch, 

Wi' screw'd up grace-proud faces ; 
On that a set o' chaps at watch, 

Thrang wlnkin on the lasses 

To chairs that day. 
XI. 
O happy is that man an' blest ! 

Nae wonder that it pride him ! 
Whase ain dear lass, that he likes best, 

Comes clinkin down beside him ! 
Wi' arm repos'd on the chair back, 

He sweetly does compose him ! 
Which, by degrees, slips round her neck, 

An's loof upon her bosom, 

Unkenn'd that day. 



64 POEMS, I j 

XII. " 1 1 

Now a' the congregation o'er ' j 

Is silent expectation ; ; 

For speels the holy door, i | 

Wi' tidings o' d- mn-t— n. 
Should Hornie, as in ancient days, 
'Mang sons o' G — present him. 

The very sight o' 's face, 

To's ain het hame had sent him 
Wi' fright that day. 

XIII. 
Hear how he clears the points o' faith 

Wi' rattlin an' wi' thumpin ! 
Now meekly calm, now wild in wrath, 

He'sstampin, an' he'sjiimpinl 
His lengthen'd chin, his turn'd-iip snout, 

His eldritch squeel and gestures, 
O how they fire the heart devout, 

Like cantharidian plasters, 
On sic a day I 

XIV. 

But hark : the tent has chang'd its voice; 

There's peace an' rest nae langer; 
For a' the real judges rise. 
They canna sit for anger. 

■ opens out his cauld harangues. 
On practice and on morals ; 
An' aff the godly pour in thrangs, 
To gie the jars an' barrels 
A lift that day. 

XV. 

What signifies his barren shine. 

Of moral pow'rs and reason? 
His English style, an' gesture fine. 

Are a' clean out o' season, 
Like Socrates or Antonine, 

Or some auld pagan Heathen, 
The mora] man he does define, 

But ne'er a word o' faith in 

That's right that day. ; • 

XVI. |i 

In guid time comes an antidote ; } 

Against the poison'd nostrum ; ' ! 

For , frae the water-fi^ ; | 

Ascends the holy rostrum : j 

:i 
:| 
ii 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 

8ae^ up he's got the word o' G— , 
An' meek an' mim has view'd it, 

While Common Sense has taen the road, 
An' aff, an' up the Cowgaie,* 

Fast, fast, that day. 

XVII, 
Wee , niest, the guard relieves, 

An' Orthodoxy raibles, 
Tho' in his heart he weel believes, 

An' thinks it auld wives fables ; 
But, faith ! the birkie wants a Manse, 

So, cannily he hums them ; 
Altho' his carnal wit and sense 

Like hafflins-ways o'ercomeshim 
At times that day. 

XVIII. 
Now butt an' ben, the Change-house fills 

Wi' yill-caup Commentators : 
Here's crying out for bakes and gills, 

An' there the pint stovvp clatters ; 
While thick an' thrang, an' loud an' lang, 

Wi' Logic, an' wi' Scripture, 
They raise a din, that in the end. 

Is like to breed a rupture 

O' wrath that day. 

XIX. 
Leeze me on drink I it gies us mair 

Than either school or college : 
It kindles wit, it waukens lair. 

It pangs us fou o' knowledge. 
Be't whiskey gill, or penny wheep. 

Or onie stronger potion, 
It never fails, on drinkuig deep, 

To kittle up our notion 

By night or day. 

XX. 

The lads an' lasses blithely bent 
To mind baith sauI an' body. 

Sit round the table weel content, 
An' Bteer about the toddy. 



• ji Btrut 80 called, tohich faces the tent <n • 



66 FOEMS, 

On this ane's dress, an' that ane'a leuk, 

They're making observations ; 
While some are cozie i' the neuk, 

An' formin' assignations, 

To meet some day 

XXI. 

But now the L— d's ain trumpet touts, 

Till a' the hills are rairin, 
An' echoes back return the shouts : 

Black is na spairin : 

His piercing words, like Higliland swordSi 

Divide the joints an' marrow : 
His talk o' H-U, where devils dwell, 

Our vera souls does harrow* 

Wi' fright that day. 

XXII. 

A vast, unbottom'd, boundless pit, 

Fird fou o' lowin brunstane, 
Wha's raging flame, an' scorchin heat, 

Wad melt the hardest whunstane ! 
The half-asleep start up wi' fear, 

An' think they hear it roarin, 
When presently it does appear, 

'Twas but some neebor snorin 
Asleep that day. 

xxm. ■ 

♦Twad be owre lang a tale to tell . 

How monie stories past, ' 

An' how they crowded to the ylll, 

When they were a' dismist : 
How drink gaed round, in cogs an* canpa, 

Amang the furins an' benches ; 
An' cheese an' bread, frae women's laps, 

Was dealt about in lunches 

An' dawds that day. 



XXIV. 
In comes a gaucie, gash Gaudwlfe, 

An' sits down by the fire. 
Syne draws her kebbuck an' her knl^ 



I 
'The lasses they are shyer. I 

i 

I 

Shaksp$are'» ffamlel' 



CEIEFL Y SCO TTISU. 67 

The auld Guidmen, about the graee^ 

Frae side to side they bother, 
TIU some ane by his bonnet lays, 

An' giea theai't like a tether, 

Fu' lang that day. 

XXV. 

Waesucks ! for him that gets nae lass. 

Or lasses that hae nacthing ! 
Sma' need has he to say a grace. 

Or melvie his br&w claiihing ! 
O wives, be mindfu' ance yoursel, 

How bonie lads ye wanted. 
An' dinna, for a kebbuck-heel, 

Let lasses be affiontcd 

On sic a day ! 

XXVI. 

Now ClinkumbeU, wV rattlin tow, 

Begins to jow an' croon : 
Some swagger hame the best they dow, 

Some wait tlie afternoon. 
At slaps the billies halt a blink, 

Till lasses strip Lheir shoon : 
Wi' faith and hope, an' love an' drink, 

'rhey're a' in famous tune, 

For crack that day. 
XXVII. 
How monie hearts this day converts, 

O' sinners and o' Jasses ! 
Their hearts o' stane, gin night are gane. 

As saft as onie flesh 's. 
There's some are fou o' love divine ; 

There's some are fou o' brandy ; 
An' monie jobs that day begin, 

May end in Houghmagandie 
Some ither day. 



THE ORDINATION. 

F»r tense they litUe oioe to frugal Heaven- 
T»pl—e the mob thty hide the little giv^n. 
I. 
KiULiKHOcs wabsters fidge an' claw, 
An' pour yoor creeshie nations ; 



68 rCEMS, 

An' ye wha leather rax an' draw, 

Of a' denominations, 
Swith to the Laigh Kirk, ane an' a' 

An' there tak up your stations ; 
Then aff to B-gb—'s in a raw, 

An' pour divine hbations 

For joy this day. 

II. 

Curst Common Sense, that imp o' h-ll, 

Cam in wi' Maggie Lauder ;* 
But O — aft made her yell, 

An' R sair misca'd her : 

This day M' takes the nail, 

And he's the boy will blaud her ! 
He'll clap a shangan on her tail, 

An' set the bairns to daub her 

Wi' dirt this day. 

III. 

Mak haste, an' turn King David owre, 

An' liltwi' holy clangour; 
O' double verse come gie us four, 

An' skirl up the Bangor; 
This day the Kirk kicks up a stour, 

Nae mair the knaves shall wrang her, 
For heresy is in her pow'r, 

An' gloriously she'll vvang her 

Wi' pith tliis day. 

IV. 

Come, let a proper text be read. 

An' touch it afi'wi' vigour, 
How graceless Ham^ leugh at his Dad, 

Which made Canaan a niger ; 
Or PhineasX drove the murdering blade 

Wi' wh-re-abhorring rigour ; 
Or Zipporah% the scaulding jade, 

W^as like a bluidy tiger 

I' th' inn tliat day. 

* Alluding to a scoffing ballad which was made on (A« cd> 
mission of ike late reverend and worthy Mr, L.toth$ lioigh 
Kirk. 

t Genesis, c. ix. ver. 22. J JV*«m6cr*, e. xrv. Mfk & 

<^ Exodus, ch. iv. ver. 25. 



CHIEFL Y SCO TTISH. 



There, try his mettle on tlie creed, 

And bijid him down wi' caution, I 

That Stipend is a carnal weed ■ 

He taks but for the fashion ; i 

And gie him o'er the Hock, to feed, | 

And punish each transgression; I 

Especial, rams that cross tlie breed, j 

Gie Uiem sufficient threshin, \ 

Spare them nae day. | 

vr. i 

Now auld Kilmarnock, cock thy tail, 1 

And toss thy horns fu' caiUy ; 
Nae mair thou'lt rowte out-owre the d ' 

Because thy pa?',.ire's scanty ; j 

For lapfu's large o' gospel kail 

Shall fill thy crib in plenty, 
An' runts o' grace the pick and wale, 

No gien by way o' dainty, 
But ilka day. 

VII. 

Nae mair by BaheVs streams we'll weep 

To think upon our Zion; 
And hing our fiddles up to sleep. 

Like baby-clouts a-dryin. 
Come, screw the pegs w"i' tunefu' cheep, 

And o'er the thairms be tryin ; 
Oh, rare ! to see our elbucks wheep. 

An' a' like lamb-tails flying 

Fu' fast this day ! 

viir. 

Lang patronage^ wi' rod o' airn 

Hasshor'd the kirk's undoin, 
As lately F-nw-ck, sair forfaim. 

Has proven to its ruin : 
Our Patron, honest man ! Glencairn^ 

He saw mischief was brewin : 
And, like a godly elect bairn, 

He's wal'd us out a true ane, I 

And sound this day. _ j 

IX. ! 

Now R harangue nae mair, i 

But steek your gab for ever: j 

Or try the wicked town of ^yr, \ 

For there they'll tliink you clever; I 



j ! TO POEMSy 

I j Or, nae reflection on your le&r, 

i Ye may commence a shaver ; 

j Or to the M-th-rt-n repair, 

I I And turn a carpet weaver 

1 1 Aff-hand thig day. 

li X. 

! M and you were just a match, 

' j We never had sic twa drones ; 

1 1 Auld Honne did the Laigh Kirk watch, 

1 1 Just like a winkin baudrons : 

I ' And ay he catch' d the tilher wretch, 

1 1 To fry thoni in his caudrons ; 

I But now his honour maun detach, 

I j Wi' a' his brimstone squadrons, 

j j Fast, *asl this day. 

XL 



See, see auld Orthodoxy's faes j | 

She's swinsein thro' the city : 1 1 

Hark, how the nine-tail'd cat she plays ! 1 1 

I vow it's unco pretty : 
There, Learning, with his Greekish face, 

Grunts out some Latin ditty ; 
And Common Sense is gaun, she saj'S, 

To mak to Jamie Bealtie 

Her plaint this day. 
XH. 
But there's Morality himsel, 

Embracing airopinions ; 
Hear, how he gies the tither yell. 

Between his twa companions ; 
See, now she peels the skin an' fell, 

As ane were peeling onions ! 
Now there — they're packed aff to h-^I, 

And banish'd our dominions. 

Henceforth this day. 



XHL 

O happy day, rejoice, rejoice! 
Come, bouse about the porter! 
j 1 Morality's demure decoys, 

I j Shall here nae mair find quarter : 

! I M' , K, are the boy», 

I i That Heresy can torture : 

They'll gie her on a rape a hojnse. 
And cow her measure shorter 
I By the head some day. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 71 

XIV. 

Come, bring the tither mutchkin In, 

And here's for a conclusion, 
To every JVew Light mother's son, 

From this time forth, Confusion ; 
If mair they deave us with their din, 

Or Patronage intrusion, 
We'll ligl)t a spunk, and, ev'ry skin, 

We'll rin tliem aff in fusion 

Like oil, some day. 



ADDRESS 

TO THE UNCO GUID, OR RIGIDLY RIGHTEOUS. 

My son, these maxims make a rule, 

Jind lump them ay thegither; 
The rigid righteous is a fool. 

The rigid wise anithcr; 
The cleanest corn that e'er was dight 

May hae some pyles o' caff in; 
So ne'er a fdlow-creature slight 

For random fits o' daffin. 

Solomon.— EccLEs. ch. vii. ver. 16. 

I. 

O TB wha are sae guid yoursel, 

Sae pious and sae holy, 
Ye've nought to do but mark and teli 

Your neebor's faults and folly ! 
Whase life is like a weel-gaun mill, 

Supply'd wi' store o' water. 
The heapit happer's ebbing still, 

And still the clap plays clatter. 

II. 
Hear me, ye venerable core, 

As counsel for poor mortals, 
That frequent pass douce Wisdom's door. 

For glaiket Folly's portals ; 
I, fijT their thoughtless, careless sakes, 

Would here propone defences, 
Their donsie tricks, their black mistaKes, 

Their failings and mischances. 



POEMS, 
III. 
Ye see your state wi' their's compared, 

And shudder at the nifTer, 
But cast a moment's fair regard, 

What makes the mighty differ ; 
Discount wUat scant occasion gave, 

That purity ye pride in, 
And (what's aft mair than a' the lave) 

Your better art o' hiding. 



IV. j 

Think, when your castigated pulse 1 1 

Gies now and then a wallop, I j 

What ragings must his veins couvulse, ' 

That still eternal gallop : 
^ Wi' wind and tide fair i' your tail, 

: Right on ye scud your sea-way : 

i But in the teeth o' baith to sail, 

i It makes an unco leeway. 

I V. 

; See social life and glee sit down, 

; All joyous and unthinking, 

i Till quite transmugrify'd, they're grown 

i Debauchery and drinking : 

I O, would they stay to calculate 

: Th' eternal consequences ; 

i Or your more dreaded hell to state, 

I Damnation of expenses ! 

; vr. 

Ye high, exalted, virtuous dames, 
Ty'd up in godly laces, 
; Before ye gie poor frailty names, 

I Suppose a change o' cases : 

i A dear lov'd lad, convenience snug, 

I A treacherous inclination — 

I But, let me whisper i' your lug, 

I Ye're aiblins nae temptation. 

I VII. 

i Then gently scan your brother man, 

i Still gentler sister woman ; 

I Tho' they may gang a kenning wrang; 

To step asijcj is human: 

I One point must still be greatly dark, 

j The moving tcki/ they do it ; 

I And just as namely can ye mark, 

j How far perhaps they rue it. 



CHIEFL Y SCO TTISH. 73 

vin. 

Who made the heart, 'tis he alone 

Decidedly can try us. 
He knows each chord, its various tone, 

Each spring— its various bias ; 
Then at the balance let's be mute, 

We never can adjust it ; 
What's done we partly may compute, 

But know not what's resisted. 



THE TWA HERDS.* 

O a' ye pious, godly flocks. 
Well fed on pastures orthodox, 
Wha now will keep you frae the fox, 

Or worrying tykes, 
Or wha will tent the waifs and crocks, 

About the dykes 1 

The iwa best herds in a' the wast. 
That e'er gae gospel horn a blast, 
These five-and-twenty summers past, 

O ' dool to tell, 
nac had a bitter, black out-cast 

Atwecn tliemsel. 

O M y, man, and wordy R 11, 

How could you raise so vile a bustle 7 
Ye'll see how new-light herds will whistle, 

And think it fine. 
The L — d's cause ne'er gat sic a twistle, 

Sin' 1 hae min'. 

O, Sirs ! whae'er wad hae expeckit, 
Your duty ye wad sae net^leckit. 
Ye wha were ne'er by lairds respeckit, 

To wear the plaid, 
But by the brutes themselves eleckit, 

To be their guide. 

• T^is piece was among the first of our author'' s produe- 
HonB which he submitted to the public^ and was occasioned 
Jm a dispute between two clergymen, near Kilmarnock. 

Vol. n. F 



74 POEMS, 

Wiat flock wi' M y's flock could raalt| 

Sa' lale and hearty every sliaiik, 
N; poison'd, sour, Arininian stank, 

lie let tlieni taste, 
I ae Calvin's well, ay clear they drank, 
O sic a feast ! 

The thummart wil'-cat, brock, and tod, 
j Weel kenn'd his voice thro' a' the wood, 

i i He smell'd tlieir ilka hole and road, 

1 1 Baith out and in, 

i i And weel he lik'd to shed their bluid, 

j j And sell their skin. 

I ! What herd like R 11 tell'd his tale, 

j • His voice was heard thro' niuir and dale, 

i I He kenn'd the Lord's sheep, ilka tail, 
1 1 O'er a' the height, 

I i A nd saw gin they were sick or hale, 
! ! At the tirst sight. 

ji 

! ; He fine a mangy sheep could scrub, 

j : Or nobly fling the gospel club, 

i ! And new-light herds could nicely drub, 

I ; Or pay their skin, 

• , Could shake tlieni o'er the burning dub ; 

I i Or heave them in. 

j Sic twa :— O, do I live to see't ! 

I Sic famous twa should disagreet, 

.'j An' names, like villain, hypocrite, 

j ; Ilk ither gi'en, 

I I • While new-light herds, wi' laughin spite, 
! i Say neither's iiein' ! 

Ii 

j A' ye wha tent the gospel fauld, 

' i There's D n deep, and P . c sbaul, 

! ! But chiefly thou, apostle A— d, 

; We trust in thee, 

j \ That thou wilt work them, hot and cauld, 

1 1 Till tliey agree. 

' Consider, Sirs, how we're beset, 

i ! There's scarce a new herd that we get, 

j ' But comes frae 'mang that cursed set, 

' ' I winna name, 

I I hope ftae heav'n to see thera yet 

Ib fiery flame. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 75 

-e has been lang our fae, 



M* 11 has wrought us meikle wae, 

And that curs'd rascal ca'd M e, 

And baith the S— — s, 
That aft hae made us black and blae, 

Wi' vengefu' paws. 

Auld W w lang has hatch'd mischief, 

We thought ay death wad bring relief 
But he has gotten, to our grief, 

Ane to succeed him. j 

A chiel wha'll soundly buff our beef i 

I meikle dread him. 



And monie a ane that I could tell, 
Wha fain would openly rebel, 
Forbye turn-coats amang oursel. 

There S— h for ane, 
I doubt he's but a gray nick quill, 

An' that ye'll fin*. 

O : a' ye flocks, o'er a' the hills, 
By mosses, meadows, moors, and fells. 
Come join your counsels and your skillt 

To cowe the lairds, 
And get the brutes the power themsela 
To choose tlieir herds 

Then Orthodoxy yet may prance. 
And Learning in a woody dance. 
And that fell cur ca'd Common Sense, 

That bites sae sair, 
Be banisb'd o'er the sea to France ; 

Let him bark there. 

Then Shaw's and D'rymple's eloquenc* 

M' U's close, nervous excellence, 

M'Q— '8 pathetic manly sense, 

And guid M' h, 

Wr S— th, wha thro' the heart can glance 
May a' pack aff. 



76 POEMS, 

THE CALF. 

TO THE REV. MU. , 

On his Text, Malachi, ch. iv, ver. 2 " And they akaBg§ 

forth, and grow %ip, like calves of the stall," 

Right, Sir ! your text I'll prove it true, 

Tlio' Heretics may laugh ; 
For instance, there's yoursel just now, 

God knows, an unco Calf I 
And should some Patron be eo kind, 

As bless you wi' a kirk, 
I doubt na. Sir, but then we'll find, 

Ye're still as great a Stirk. 
But, if the lover's raptur'd hour 

Shall ever be your lot. 
Forbid it, ev'ry licavenly Power, 

You e'er should be a Slot! 
Tho' when some kind, connubial dear. 

Your but-aniV-ben adorns, 
The like has been, that you may wear 

A noble head of horns. 
And in your lug, most reverend Jamea^ 

To hear you roar and rowte, 
Few men o' sense will doubt your claims 

To rank amang the nowte. 
And when yc're number'd wi' the dead, 

Below a grassy hillock, 
Wi' justice they may mark your head— 

" Here lies a famous Bullock !" 



HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER. 

THOU, wha in the heavens dost dwell, 
Wha, as it pleases best thysel', 
Sends ana to lieaven and ten to hell, 

A' for thy glory, 
And no for ony guid or ill 

They've done afore thee! 

1 bless and praise thy matchless migbti 
Whan thousands thou hast left in night, 

j I That I am here afcre thy sight, 

j ! For gifts an' grace, 

I j A bumln an' a shinin light, 

i ! To a' this place. 



CHIEFL Y SCO TTISU. 77 

What was I, or my generation, 
That I should get such exaltation ? 
I, wha deserve sic just damnation, 

For broken laws, 
Five thousand years 'fore my creation, 

Thro' Adam's cause. 

When frae my mither's womb I fell, 
Thou might hae plunged me into hell. 
To gnash my gums, to weep and wail, 

In burnin lake, i 

Whare damned devils roar and yell, 

Cliain'd to a slaik. 

Yet I am here, a chosen sample. 

To show thy grace is great an' a.rpie ; i 
I'm here a pillar in thy temple, 

Strong as a rock, | 

A guide, a buckler, an' example j 

To a' thy flock. | 

O L— d, thou kens what zeal I bear, 
When drinkers drink, and swearers swear, I 

And singin there, and dancin here, I 

Wi' great an' sraa' : j 

For I am keepit by thy fear, j 

Free frae them a' . 
But yet, O L — d ! confess I must, | 

At times I'm fash'd wi' fleshly lust, 
An' sometimes too, wi' warldly trust 

Vile self gets In ! 
But thou remembers we are dust, 

Defil'd in sin. 



Besides, I farther maun allow, 
Wi' Lizzie's lass, three times I trow ; 
But, L— d, that Friday I was fou, 

When I came near her. 
Or else, thou kens thy servant true 

Wad ne'er hae sleer'd her 
Maybe thou lets this fleshly thorn, 
Beset thy servant e'en and mom. 
Lest he owre high and proud should turn, 

'Cause he's sae gifted ; 
If sae, thy han' maun e'en be borne. 

Until thou lift it 



78 POEMS, 

L— d, bless thy chosen in this place, 
For here thou hast a chosen race ; 
But G-d confound their stubborn face, 

And blast their name, 
Wha bring thy elders to disgrace, 

An' public shame. 

L— d, mind G— n H n's deserta, 

He drinks, an' swears, an' plays at carts, 
Yet has sae monie takin arts, 

Wi' grit an' sma', 
Frae G — d's ain priest the people's hearts 
He steals awa'. 

An' whan we chastcn'd him therefor. 
Thou kens how he bred sic a splore, 
An set the warld in a roar 

O' laughjn at us ; 
Curse thou his basket and liie store, 

Kail an' potatoes. 

L— d, hear my earnest cry an' pray'r. 
Against that presbyt'ry o' Ayr; 
Thy strong right liand, L — d, make It bare, 

Upo' their heads, 
L— d, weigh it down, and dinna spare, 
For their misdeeds. 

O L— d, my G-d, that glib-tongu'd A— H 
My very heart an' saul are quakin, 
To think how we stood swoatin, shakin. 

An' d— d wi' dread, 
While he, wi' hinging lips and snakln. 

Held up his head. 

L— d, in the day of vengeance try him, 
L — d, visit them wha did employ him, 
An' pass not in thy mercy by 'em, 

Nor hear their pray'r ; 
But for thy people's sake, destroy 'ein, 

And dinna spare. 

But, L — d, remember me and mine 
Wi' mercies temp'ral and divine. 
That 1 for gear and grace miy skine, 

Excell'd by nane; 
A.n' a' the glory shall be thine, 
Amen, .^nien. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 79 

EPITAPH ON HOLY WILLIE. 

Here Holy Willie's sair-worn clay 

Takes up its last abode ; 
His sau! has taen some other way, 

I fear the left-hand road. 
Stop ! there he is as sure'ss a gun, 

Poor silly body, see him ; 
Nae wonder he's as black's the grun, 

Observe wha's standing wi' him. 
Your briinstane devilship, I see, 

Has got him there before ye ; 
But baud your nine-tail cat a-wee. 

Till ance you've heard my story. 
Your pity I will not implore, 

For pity ye hae nane ; 
Justice, alas ! has gien hira o'er, 

And mercy's day is gaen. 
But hear me, Sir, Deil as ye are, 

Look something to your credit : 
A coof like him wad stain your name, 

If it were kent ye did it. 



THE KIRK'S ALARM.* 



Orthodox, Orthodox, wha believe in John Knox, 

Let me sound an alarm to your conscience ; 
There's a heretic blast has been blawn in the wast, 

That what is no sense must be nonsense. 
Dr. MaCjt Dr. Mac, you should stretch on a rack, 

To Btrtke evil-doers wi' terror ; 
To join faith and sense upon onie pretence. 

Is heretic, damnable error. 
Town of Ayr, Town of Ayr, it was mad, I declare, 

To meddle wi' mischief a-brewing ; 
Provost John is still deaf to the church's relief. 

And orator Bob:^ is its ruin. 

* This poem teas written a short time after thepvilicatum 
tfDr. Jd'OUPs Essay. 
. t Dr. M'Oai. t R 1 A—k-n. 



80 r-OEMS, 

D'rymplemild,* D'lymple mild, Iho' }'our heart's like a child, 

And your life like the new driven snavv, 
Yet that winiia save ye, aiild Satan must hae ye, 

For preacliing that three's ane and twa. 

Rumble John,t Rumble John, mount the steps wi' a groan, 

Cry the book is wi' heresy cramni'd ; 
Then lug out your lad'.e, deal brimstone like adie, 

And roar every note of the damn'd. 

Simper James,t Simper James, leave the fair Kiilie dames, 

There's a holier chase in your view ; 
I'll lay on your head, that the pack ye'll soon lead, 

For puppies like you there's but few. 

•slnget Sawney,^ Singet Sawney, are ye herding the penny, 

Unconscious what evils await 1 
Wi' a jump, yell, and howl, alarm every soul, 

For the foul thief is just at your gate. 

Daddy Auld,I| Daddy Auld, tliere's a tod in the fauld, 

A tod meikle waur than the Clerk ; 
rho' ye can do little skaith, ye'll be in at the death, 

An' gif ye canna bite, ye may bark. 

Davie Bluster, IT Davie Bluster, if for a saint ye do muster, 

Tlie corps is no nice of recruits ; 
Yet to wortli let's be just, royal blood ye might boast, 
If the ass was the king of the brutes. 

Jamy Goose,** Jamy Goose, ye hae made but toom roose. 

In hunting the wicked lieutenant: 
But the Doctor's your mark, for the L— d's haly ark, 

He has cooper'd, and caw'd a wrang pin in't. 

Poet Willie,tt Poet Willie, gie the doctor a volley, 

Wi' your liberty's chain and your wit ; 
O'er Pegasus' side ye ne'er laid astride. 

Ye but smelt, man, the place where he sh-t 

Andre Gouk,tt Andro Gouk, ye may slander the book. 

And the book not the waur, let me tell ye ! 
Ye are rich, and look big, but lay by hat and wig, 

And ye'll hae a calf's head o' sma' value. 

* Mr. D—m—lc. ^ Mr. R-ss-ll. % Mr.M*K—y. 

$ Mr. M y. II Mr. A—d. ![ Mr. O ( 

If o-l-c. ** Mr. Y-g of C—n—k. tt Ji!r. 

P—b~s ofA-r. U Dr. A. M-ll. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 81 

Barr Steenie,* BarrSteenie, what mean ye ! what mean ye! 

If ye'lJ meddle nae mair vvi' tlie matter, 
Ye may hae some pretence to havins and sense, 

Wi' people wha ken ye nae better. 
Irvine Side,t Irvine Side, wi' your turkey-cock pride, 

Of manliood but sma' is 3'our share ; 
Ye've the fieure, 'tis true, even your faes will allow, 

And your friends they dare graut ye nae mair. 
Muirland Jock,t Muirl and Jock, when the L— d makes a rock 

To crush Common Sense for her sins, 
If ill manners were wit, tliere's no mortal so fit 

To confound the poor doctor at once. 
Holy Will,^ Holy Will, there was wit i' your skull 

When ye pilfer'd the alms o' the poor ; 
The limmer is scant, w^-jn ye' re taen for a saint, 

Wha should swing in a rape for an hour. 
Calvin's sons, Calvin's sons, seize your sp'ritual guns, 

Ammunition you never can need ; 
Your hearts are the stuff, will be powther enough, 

And your skulls are store-houses o' lead. 
Poet Bums, Poet Bums, wi' your priest-skelping turns, 

Why desert ye your auld native shire 1 
Your muse is a gipsie, e'en tho' she were tipsie, 

She could ca' us nae waur than we are. 



LETTER TO JOHJ^ GOUDIE, KILM.BRKOCK, 

ON THK PUBLICATION OF HIS ESSAVg. 

O GcroiE ! terror o' the whigs. 
Dread o' black coats and rev'rend wigs, 
Soor bigotry, on her last legs, 

Gimin looks back, 
Wishing the ten EgjTptian plagues 
Wad seize you quick. 

Pool gapin, glowrin Superstition, 
Waes me, she's in a sad condition ; 
Fly, bring BJack-Tock, her state physician. 

To see her w-ter ; 
Al88 ! there's ground o' great suspicion 

Bhe'll ne'er get better. 

• Q B Y—g 0* B-^r. t Mr. S h of G— «. 

X Mr. S cL ^ S/i elder in J\I—e. 



POEMS, 

Aiild Orthodoxy Ian? did grapple, 
But now slio's got an unco ripple, 
Haste, gic her name up i' the chapel 

Nin;h unto death; 
See how she letches at the thranple, 
An" gasps for brealii. 
Enthusiasm's past redemption, 
Gaeu in a sallopinj; consiunption, 
Not a' the quacks wi' a" their gumption, 

Will ever mend her, 
Her feeble pulse gies strong presumption, 
Death soon will end her. 
'Tis you and Taylor* are the chief, 
Wha are to blame for this mischief; 
But gin tile Lord's ain locks gnt leave, 

A toom tar-barreJ 
An' twa red poats wad send relief. 
An' end the quarrel. 



^ DEDIC^TIOJN' TO O.^rLY HAMILTOJfy K8f^ 

ExPKCT na, Sir, in this narration, 
A tleeching, tloth'rin dedication, 
To rouse you up, an' ca' you guid. 
An sprung o' great an' noble bluid, 
Because ye're surnam'd like his grace, 
Perhaps related to the race ; 
Then when I'm tir'd— and sae are ye, 
Wi' mony a fulsome sinfu' lie, 
Set up a face, how I stop short. 
For fear your modesty be hurt. 

This may do — maun do, Sir, wi' them wha 
Maun please the great folk for a wamefoa ; 
For me ! sae laigli I needua bow, 
For, Lord be thankit, I can plough; 
And when I downa yoke a naig, 
Then, L— d be thankit, T can brg'; 
Sae 1 shall say, an' that's nae flatt'rin, 
It's just sic Poet, an' sic Patron. 

The Poet, some guid angel help him, 
Or else, I fear some ill ane skelp hlra, 
He may do weel for a' he's done yet, 
But only he's no just begun yet. 

* Dr. Taylor of JVorwich. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 83 

The Patron, (Sir, ye maun forgie me, 
I wlnna lie, come what will o' me,) 
On «rv'ry hand it will ailow'd be, 
He's juBt nae better than he should be. 

I readily and freely grant. 
He dowma see a [Mjor man want : 
What's no liig ain he winna tak it, 
What ance he says he winna break it, 
Ought he can lend he'll no refus't. 
Till aft his goodness is abus'd : 
And rascals whyles that do him wrang, 
Ev'n that, he does not mind it lang : 
As master, landlord, husband, father 
He does na fail his part in eitlier. 

But then, nae thanks to him for a' that 
Nae godly symptom ye can ca' that , 
It's naething but a milder feature, 
Of our i>oor, sinfu', corrupt nature ■ 
Ye'U get the best o' moral works, 
♦Mang black Gentow and pajran Turfcn. 
Or hunters wild on Ponotaxi, 
Wha never heard of orthodoxy; 
That he's the poor man's friend in need, | 

The gentleman in word and deed, i 

It's no thro' terror of d-mnalion : 
It's just a carnal inclination. 

Morality ! thou deadly bane, 
Thy tens o' thousands thou hast slain I i 

Vahi is his hope, whose slay and trust is } | 

In moral mercy, truih, and juKlico ! 

No— stretch a point to catcli a plack ; 
Abuse a brother to his back ; I 

Steal thro' a winnock frac a wh-re, i 

But point to the rake that takes the door: ' 

Be to tlie poor like onie whunstane. 
And baud their noses to the grunstane ; 
Ply every art o' legal thieving ; 
No matter, stick to sound believing. 

Learn three-mile prayers, and half-mile graces, 
Wr weel-spread looves, an' lang wry faces; 
Grant up a solemn, lenethen'd groan, 
And damn a' parties but your own ; 
ru warrant then, ye're nae deceiver, 
A steady, sturdy, staunch believer. 



8} POLMS, 

O ye wha leave the springs of C-lv-nt 
For gurnlie duds of your ain delvin ! 
Ye sons of heresy and error, 
Ye'U sonue day squeel in quakin terror! 
When Vengeance draws the sword in wrath, 
And in the fire throws tlie sheath ; 
When Ruin, with his sweeping besom^ 
Just frets till heav'n commission gies him ; 
While o'er the harp pale mis'ry moans, 
And strikes the ever-deep'ning tones, 
Still louder shrieks, and heavier groans ! 

Your pardon. Sir, for this digressioa, 
I maist forgat my Dedication I 
But when Divinity comes cross me. 
My readers still are sure to lose me. 

So, Sir, ye see 'twas nae daft vapour, 
But I maturely thought it proper. 
When a' my works I did review, 
To dedicate them. Sir, to ynu: 
Because (ye need na tak it jil) 
I thought them something like yoursel. 

Then patronise them wi' j'our favour, 
And your petitioner shall ever— 
I had amaist said, ever pray, 
But that's a word 1 need na say ; 
For prayin I hae little skill ot ; 
I'm baith dead-sweer, an' wretched ill o't; 
But I'se repeat each poor man's pray'r, 
I That kens or hears about you, Sir : — 

" May ne'er misfortune's growling liark, 
Howl thro' the dwelling o' the Clerk I 
May ne'er his gen'rous, honest heart. 
For that same sen'rous spirit smart ! 

May K ^'s far honour' d name 

Lang beet his hymeneal flame, 

Till H -s, at least a dizen, 

Are frae their nuptial labours risen ; 
Five bonie lasses round their table 
And seven braw fellows, stout an' able 
To serve their king and country weel, 
By word, or pen, or pointed steel ! 
May health and peace, with mutual rays, 
Shine on the evening o' his days ; 
Till his wee curlie John's ier-oe. 
When ebbing life nae mair shall flow. 
The last, sad, mournful rites bestow !" 

i 



CHIEFL Y SCOT TISU. 85 

I will not wind a lang conclusion, 
Wi' complimentary effusion : 
But whilst your wishes and endeavours 
Are blest wi' Fortune's smiles and favours, 
I am, dear Sir, with zeal most fervent, 
Your much indebted humble servant. 

But if (which powers above prevent !) 
That iron- hearted carl, Want, 
Attended in his grim advances, 
By sad mistakes and black mischances. 
While hopes and joys and pleasures fly him, 
Make you as poor a dog as I am, 
Your humble servant then no more ; 
For who would humbly serve the poor ? 
But by a poor man's hopes in Heav'n I 
While recollection's pow'r is given. 
If, in the vale of humble life, 
The victim sad of Fortune's strife. 
I, tluo' the tender gushing tear, 
Should recognise my master dear. 
If friendless, low, we meet together. 
Then, Sir, your hcund— my jricnd and brother' 



LIjYES 

addressed to mr. john ranken. 

Ak day as death, that grousome carl, 
Was driving to tlie tither warl' 
A mixtie-maxtie motly squad. 
And monie a guilt-bespotled lad ; 
Black gowns of each denomination, 
And thieves of every rank and station, 
From him that wears the star and garter, 
To him that wintles in a halter ; 
Asham'd himself to see the wretches. 
He mutters, glow' ring at the b — es, 
" Ay G — , I'll not be seen behint them. 
Nor 'mang the sp'ritual corps present them, 
Without, at least, ae honest man. 
To grace this daran'd infernal clan." 
By Adamhill a glance he threw, 
" L— d G— d :" quoth he, " 1 have it now 
There's just the man I want, in faith." 
Aad quickly stopped Ranken's breath. 



eG POEMS, 

LINES 

WRITTEN BY BURNS, WHILE ON HIS DEATH-BED, TO THB 

SAME. 

He who of R-k— n sang, lies stiff and dead. 
And a g/een grassy hillock hides his head ; 
Alas ! alas ! a devilish change indeed ! 



EXTEMPORE. 

i ! ON THE LATE KR. WILLIAM BMELLIE. 

I To Ciocliallan came* 

! The old cock'd hat, the gray surtout, the same ; 

I His bristling beard just rising in its might, 

I 'Twas four long nights and days to shaving-night; 

j His uncomb'd grizzly locks wild staring, thatchM 

i A head for thought profound and clear, unmatch'd ; 

i Yet, tho' Ills caustic wit was l)iting, rude, 

I , His heart was waini, benevolent, and good. 

!' 

I '; EXTEMPORE. 

At a meeting of the Dmnfriesshire Volunteers, held to com- 
memorate the anniversary of Rodney'' s victory, April, 12tA, 
1782, Burns was called vpon for a song, instead of which 
he delivered the following lines extempore : 

Instead of a song, boys, I'll give you a toast, 
Here's the memoiy of those on the twelfth that we lost : 
That we lost, did I say, nay, by Heav'n, that we found, 
For their fame it shall last while the world goes round. 
The next in succession, I'll give you the king, 
Whoe'er would betray him, on high may he swing ; 
And here's the grand fabric, our free constitution, 
As built on the base of the great revolution ; 
And, longer with politics not to be cramm'd, 
He anarchy curs'd, and be tyranny damn'd ; 
And who woukJ to liberty e'er prove disloyal, 
May his son be a liangman, and he the first trial. 

* Mr. Smellie and Burns were both memltrs of a club in 
Edinburgh, called the Crochallan Feneibles 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 87 

TO MR. S**E, 

OH RBFUSTNO TO DINE WITH HIM, AFTER HAVING BEEN 
PROMISED THE FIRST OF COMPANY AND THE FIRST 
COOKERY. 

No more of your guests, be they titled or not, 

And cook'ry the first in the nation ; 
Who is proof to thy personal converse and wit, 

Is proof to all other temptation. 
Duember J 7, 1795. 



TO MR. S**E, 

WITH A PRESENT OF A DOZEN OF PORTER 

O HAD the malt thy strength of mind, 

Or hops the flavour of thy wit ; 
'Twere drink for first of human kind, 
A gift that e'en for S**n were fit, 
Jerusalem Tavern, Dumfries. 



EXTEMPORE. 

WRITTEN rN ANSWER TO A CARD FROM AN INTIMATB OT 
burns', INVITING HIM TO SPEND AN HOUR AT A TAVERN. 

The king's most humble servant, I 

Can scarcely spare a minute ; 
But I'll be wi' ye by an' by, 

Of else the Dell's be in it. 



EXTEMPORE. 

WRITTEN IN A LADY'S POCKET BOOK. 

Grant me, indulgent Heav'n, that I may live 

To see the miscreants feel the pains they give ; j 

Deal Freedom's sacred treasures free as air, 1 1 

Till slave aid despot be but things which wera 1 1 



Z,/JV£S, 

OH BEING ASKED WHY GOD HA.D MADE MISS DAVIS BO LTTTLIt 

AND MISS SO LARGE. 

Written on a Pane of Olass in the inn at Moffat, 

Ask why God made the gem so small, 

An' why so huge the granite ! 
Because God meant mankind should sel 

The higher value on it. 



LTJ^ES 

WBITTEN UNDER THE PICTURE OF THE GELEBRATSD ] 
BURNS. 

Cease, ye prudes, your envious railing 
Lovely Burns has charms — confess; 

True it is, she had one failing, 
Had a woman ever less? 



LLYES 

WRITTEN AND PRESENTED TO MRS. KEMBLE, ON SBBIHO '. 
IN THE CHARACTER OF TARICO. 

Kemble, thou cur'st my unbelief 

Of Moses and his rod ; 
It Yarico's sweet notes of grief, 
The rock with tears had now'd 
Dumfries Theatre, 1794. 



1 1 n POEMS, ' 

jl 

|i LINES 

i ON Miss J. SCOTT, OF AYR. 

i Oh ! had each Scot of ancient times, 

I Been, Jeany Scott, as thou art, 
} The bravest heart on English ground, 

I I Had yielded like a coward. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH 89 

LINES 

WRITTEN ON WINDOWS OF THE GLOBE TAVERN, DUMFRIES. 

The graybeard, old Wisdom, may boast of his ueasures, 

Give me with gay Folly to live ; 
I grant him liis calm-blooded, time-settled pleasures, 

But Folly has raptures to give. 



I murder hate by field or flood, 

Tho' glory's name may screen us ; 
In wars at hame I'll spend my blood, 

Life-giving war of Venus. 
The deitifs that I adore. 

Are social Peace and Plenty. 
I'm better pleased to make one more, 

Than be the death of twenty. 



My bottle is my holy pool, 
That heals the wounds o' care and dool ; 
And pleasure is a wanton trout. 
An' ye drink it, y'U find him out. 



LIKES 

WRITTEN ON A. WINDOW, AT THE KING'S ARMS TAVERN, 
DUMFRIES. 

Ye men of wit and wealth, wi' a' this sneering 
'Gainst poor Excisemen, give the cause a hearing : 
What are your landlord's rent-rolls ? taxing legers: 
What premiers, what 1 even Monarch's mighty gaugers . 
Nay, what are priests? those seeming godly wise men : 
What are thev, pray 1 but spiritual Excisemen. 
Vol. II. G 



In politics if thou would'st mix, j i 

And mean thy fortunes be ; 1 1 

Bear this in mind, be deaf and blind, | ; 
Let great folks hear and see. 



90 POEMS, 

A VERSE, 

Presentea by the author, to the master of a house, at a place in 

the Highlands, where he had been hospitably entertained. 

When Death's dark stream I ferry o'er, 

A time that surely shall come : 

In Heaven itself, I'll ask no more, 

Than just a Highiand welcome. 

EPIGRAM 1 1 

[Bums eiccompanied by a friend, having gone to Inverary i i 

at a time when some company were there on a visit to the 1 1 

I Duke of Argyll, finding himself and his companion entire- \ 

I ly neglected by the innkeeper, whose whole attention seemed i i 

' t# fee occupied with the visiters of his Grace, expressed hit } 1 

di<$ap?rt>iatioJi of the incivility with which they were treat- \ j 

ed in the following lines.] || 

Whoe'er he be that sojourns here, ' > 

I pity much his case, i i 

Unless he comes to wait upon i i 

The Lord their God his Grace. j I 

There's naething here but Highland pride, I 

And Highland scab and hunger; I 

If Providence has sent me here, 1 1 

'Twas surely in an anger. i i 



EPIGRAM 
On Elphinstone's translation of MartiaVs Ep^am^ 



O THOD whom Poetry abhors, 
Whom Prose has turn'd out of doors, 
Heard'st thou that groan 1 — proceed no further, 
'Twas iaurell'd Martial roaring murder. 



VERSES, 
Written on a window of the inn at Carron^ 
We cam na here to view your ' 

In hopes to be mair wise, 

But only lest we gang to hell, 

It may be nae surprise : 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 91 

But when wetirl'd at your door, 

Your porter dought na hear us ; 
8ae may, should we to hell's yetts come, 

Your billy Satan sair us ! 



EPITAPH 

On a celebrated ruling Elder. 

Hkkk souter **** in death does sleep ; 

To h-U, if he's gane thither, 
Satan, gie him thy gear to keep. 

He'll baud it weel thegither. 



OJV 1 JfOISY POLEMIC. 

Below thir stanes lie Jamie's banes: 

O Death, it's my opinion. 
Thou ne'er took such a blethrin b-tch, 

Into thy dark dominion ! 



ON WEE JOHNNY. 

Hicjacet wee Johnnie. 

Whoe'er thou art, O reader, know, 
That Deikth has murder'd Johnny ! 

An' here his hody lies fu' low— 
For»aut he nfe'er had ony. 



FOR O. H. ESQ, 

Thi |wor man weeps— here G ^n sleepe, 

Whom canting wretches blam'd : 

Bat with such as he, where'er he be, 
May I be aav'd or damrCd I 



POEMS 

ON A WAG IN MAUCHLINB. 

Lament him, Mauchline husbands a*, 

He aften did assist ye : 
For had ye staid whole weeks awa', 

Your wives they ne'er had miss'd ye. 

Ye Mauchline bairns, as on ye pass 
To school in bands thegither, 

O tread ye lightly on the grass, 
Perhaps he was your father. 



ON JOHN DOVE, 

Inn-keeper, Mauchline, 

Here lies Johnny Pidgeon, 
What was his religion, 
Whae'er desires to ken. 
To some other warl 
Maun follow the carl, 
For here Johnny Pidgeon had 

Strong ale was ablution. 
Small beer persecution, 
A dram was memento mori; 
But a full flowing bowl 
Was the saving his soul. 
And port was celestial glory. 



OJV WALTER S— 

Sic a reptile was Wat, 
Sic a miscreant slave, 

That the worms ev'n 
When laid in his grave. 

" In his flesh there's a famine,*' 
A starv'd reptile cries ; 

• And his heart is rank ] 
Another replies. 



CHIEFL T SCO TTISH. 83 

ON A HENPECKED COUNTRY SQUIRE. 

As father Adam first was fool'd, 

A case that's stilJ too common, 
Here lies a man a woman rul'd, 

The Devil rul'd the woman. 



EPIGRAM OJf SAID OCCASIOX. 

O DEATH, had'st tliou but spar'd his life, 
Whom we this day lament 1 

We freely wad exchang'd the wife. 
And a' been weel content- 

Ev'n as he is, cauld in his graff, 

The sicap we yet will do't ; 
Tak thou the Carlin's carcass aff, 

Thou'se get the saul o' boot 



ANOTHER. 

Onb Queen Artemisa, as old stories tell. 
When deprived of her husband she loved so well. 
In respect for the love and aficction he'd shown her, 
She reduc'd him to dust, and she drank up the powder 
But Queen n+******, of a different complexion, 
When caird on to order the fun'ral direction. 
Would have eat her dead lord, on a slender pretence, 
Not to show her respect, but— to save the expense. 



OJV THE DEATH OF A LAP DOG J^AMED ECHO 

In wood and wild, ye warbling throng, 

Your heavy loss deplore ; - ) 

Nov half-extinct your powers of song, 

Sweet Eciio is no more. 

Ye jarring, screeching things around, 

Scream your discordant joys ; 
Now half your din of tuneless sound 

With Echo silent lies. 



94 POEMS, 

IMPROMPTU ON MRS. 'S BIRTH-DAY, 

4t)i J^''ovcmbcr, 1703. 

Old Winter with his frosty beard, 
Thus once to Jnve his prayer prefen'd: 
What have I done, of all the year, 
To bear this liated doom severe ? 
My cheerless sons no pleasure know; 
Nights horrid car drags dreary, slow ; 
'ly dismal months no joys are crowning, 
?>H\. spieeny English, hanging, drowning. 

Now, Jove, for once be mighty civil, 
I'o counterbalance all this evil ; 
Give me, and I've no more to say, 
Give me Maria's natal day ! 
That brilliant gift will so enrich me, 
Spring, Summer, Autumn, cannot match me. 
'Tis done, says Jove ;— so ends my story, 
And Winter once rejoic'd in glory. 



MONODY 
On a Lady famed for lur caprice. 
How cold is that bosom which folly once fir'd I 

How pale is that cheek wliere the rouge lately glisten'd ! 
How silent that tongue which the echoes oft tir'd! 

How dull is that ear which to flattery so listea'd ! 
If sorrow and anguish their exit await, 

From friendship and dearest affection remov'd ; 
How doubly severer, Eliza, thy fate, 

Thou diedsl unwept, as thou lived'st unlov'd. 
Loves, Graces, and Virtues, I call not on you ; 

So shy, grave, and distant, ye shed not a tear: 
But come,' all ye o/i'sprins of Folly so true. 

And flowers let us cull for Eliza's cold bier. 
We'll search thro' the garden for each silly flower, 

We'll roan thro' the forest for each idle weed; 
But chiefly the nettle, so typical, shower, 

For none e'er ap^ ^oach'(J her but rued f'le rash deed. 
We'll sculpture the m>.rble, we'll measure the lay, 

Here Vanity strums on her idiot lyre ; 
There keen Indignation shall dait on her prey. 

Which spurning Contempt shall redeem from her ir*. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH 

THE EPITAPH. 

Here iies, now a prey to insulting neglect, 
What once was a outfrrflv, gay in life's beam ; 

Want only of wisdom denied nei ;c«;>ect, 
Want only of goodness denied her "esteem 



ODE, 
Sacred to the memonj of Mrs. 



of- 



Dweller in yon dungeon dark. 
Hangman of creation ! mark 
Who in widow-weeds ap[)ears, 
Laden with nnhonour'd years, 
Noosing with care a bursting purse, 
Baited with many a deadly curse ! 

STROPHE, 

View the wither'd beldam's face- 
Can thy keen inspection trace 
Aught of humanity's sweet melting grace 1 
Note that eye, 'tis rheum o'erflows, 
Pity's flood "there never rose. 
See those hands, ne'er stretch'd to save, 
Hands that took — but never gave. 
Keeper of Maimnon's iron chest, 
Lo ! there she goes, unpitied and unbiest I 
She goes, but not to realms of everlasting rest I 

ANTISTROPHE. 

Plunderer of armies, lift thine eyes, 
(Awhile forbear, ye tott'ring fiends.) 
Scest thou whose step unwilling hither bends? 
No fallen angel, hurl'd from upper skies ; 
"Tis thy trusty quondam mate, 
Dooni'd to share thy fiery fate, 
She, tardy, hell-ward plies. 

EPODE. 

And are they of no more avail, 
Ten thousand glittering pounds a-year? 
In other worlds can Mammon fail, 
Omnipotent as he i.^ here? 



POEMS, 

O, bitter mock'ry of the pompous bier, 
While down the wretched vital part is driv'n ! 
The cave-lodg'd beggar, with a conscience clear. 
Expires in lags, unknown, and goes to heav'n. 



I THE HEJ^PECKED HUSBMJSTD. 

; Curs'd be the man, the poorest wretch in life, v 

j The crouching vassal to ihe tyrant wife, \^ 

] Who has no will but by her bigii permission; 

' Who has not sixpence but in her possession : 

i Who must to her his dear friend's secret tell ; 

I Who dreads a curtain lecture worse than hell. 

! Were such the wife had fallen to my part, 

i I'd break her spirit, or I'd break her heart ; 

i I'd charm her with the magic of a switch, 

I'd kiss her maids, and kick the perverse b— h. 



ELEGY OJV THE YEJIR 1788. 

For lords or kings I dinna mourn, 
E'en let them die — for that they're bom ! 
But, oh '. prodigious to reflect, 
A Towmont, Sirs, is gane to wreck ! 
O Eighty-eight, in thy sma' space 
What dire events hae taken place ! 
Of what enjoyment thou hast reft us I 
In what a pickle thou hast left us ! 

The Spanish empire's tint a head. 
An' my auld teethless Bawtie's dead; 
The toolzie's teugh 'tween Pitt and Fox, 
An' our gudewife's wee birdy cocks ; 
The ane is game, a bluidy devil. 
But to the hen-birds unco civil ; 
The tither's dour, has nae sic breedin, 
But better stuff ne'er claw'd a midden ! 



Ye ministers, come mount the pulpit, 
An' cry till ye be hearse an' rupit ; 
For Eighty-eight, he wish'd you weel, 
An' gied you a' baith gear an' meal : 
E'en monie a plack, an' monie a peck, 
Ye ken youreeb for little feck ! 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH 97 

Ye bonie lasses dijrht your een, 
For some o' you liae tint a frien' ; 
In Eighty-eight, sae ken, was ta'en 
What ye'll ne'er hae to gie again. 

Observe the very nowt an' sheep, 
IIow dowff an' dowie now they creep; 
Nay, ev'n the yirtJj itsel does cry, 
For Embro' wells arc grutten dry 

O Eighty nine, tho\x's but a bairn, 
An' no owre auld, I hope, to learn ! 
Thou beardless boy, I pray tak care. 
Thou now has got tliy daddy's chair, 
Nae hand-cuff 'd, niuzzl'd, half-shackJ'd recent. 
But, lilte himself, a full, free agent 
Be sure ye follow out the plan 
Nae waur than he did, honest man ! 
As muckle better as you can. 
January 1, 1789. 



TAM SAMSON'S* ELEGY. 

^n honest man''s the noblest work of God. 

Pope 

Has auld K seen the Deil ? 

Or great M — = 1 thrawn his heel 1 

Or R 1 again grown weel, 

To preach an' read 1 
" Na, waur than a' !" cries ilka chiel, 
Tam Samson's dead I 



• When this worthy old Sportsman went out last r/tuirfowl 
season, he supposed it icas to be, in Ossian' s phrase, " the last 
of his fields;''^ and expressed an ardent wish to die and be 
buried in the muirs. On this Mnt the author composed his 
Elegy and Epitaph. 

t J? certain preacher, a great favourite with the million 
fidt the Ordination, stanza II. 

I .another preacher, an equal favourite with the few, who 
was at that time ailing. For him, sec also the OrdiTiation^ 
Btama IX. 



POEMS, j 

K lang may grunl an' grane, i 

An' sigh, an' sab, an' greet her lane, 1 

An' deed her bairns, man, wife, an' wean, » 1 ! 

In mourning weed ; ] i 

To death she's dearly paid the kane, \ [ 

Tarn Samson's dead ! 1 . 



The brethren of the mystic level, 
May hing their head in wofu' bevel, 
While by the nose the tears will revel, 

Like onie bead ; 
Death's gien the lodge an unco devel ; 

Tam Samson's dead I 

When winter muffles up his cloak, 
And binds the mire up like a rock ; 
When to the loughs the curlers flock, 

Wi' gleesonie speed, 
Wha will they station at the cock? 

Tam Samson's dead ! 

He was the king o' a' the core, 
To guard, or draw, or wick a bore. 
Or up the rink like Jehu roar 
In time of need ; 
But now he lags en death's hog-score, 
Tam Samson's dead ! 

Now safe the stately sawmont sail. 
And trouts bedropp'd wi' crimson hail, 
And eels well kenn'd for souple tail, 

And geds for greed, 
Sine dark in death'' s fish-creel we wall, 

Tam Samson's dead ' 

Rejoice ye birring paitricks a' ; 
ye cootie muircocks, crousely craw ; 
Ye maukins, cock your fud fu' braw, 

Withouten dread ; 
Your mortal fae is now awa', 

Tam Samson's dead ; 

That wofu' mom he ever mourn'd, 
Saw him in shootin graith adorn'd, 
While pointers round impatient buru'd, 

Frae couples freed ; 
Bat, och ! he gaed, and ne'er returned ; 

Tam Samson's dead ! 



CHTEFL Y SCO T TTSH 99 

I In vain auld age his body batters , 

i In vain tbe cou *tis anclt-s fetters ! 

i In vuin the burn rnnic down like waters 

I An lire braid ! 

; Now every anld wife, creetin, clatters, 

Tarn Samson's dead ! 

Owre many a weary has he limpit, 
An ay the titiier shot he thumpit, 
Till coward death behind him jumpit, 
j Wi' deadly feide ; 

Now he proclaims, wi'tout o' trumpet. 
Tarn Samson's dead ! 

When at his heart he felt tlie dagger, 

lie reel'd his wonted bottle-swagger, 

But yet he drew tlie mortal trigger 
; Wi' weel-aim'd deed ; 

i " L — d, five 1" he cry'd, an' owre did 

: * Tani Samson's dead ! 

! Ilk hnary hunter mourn'd a brither ; !i 

i nk sportsman youth bemoan'd a father ; 1^ 

i Yon auld gray stane, amang the heather, ii 

I Marks out his head, \{ 

I W hare ^Mrns has wrote, in rhyming blether, j 

i Tarn Savison's dead ! > 

i There Tw he lies, in lasting rest ; \\ 

I Perhaps i.^ron his nionld'ring breast j 

j Some spitefu' muirfnwl bigs lier nest, \ 

I To hatch an' breed ; | 

I Alas ! nae rnair he' J them molest ! j 

I Tam Samson's dead ! 

I When August winds the heather wave, 

j And sportsmen wander by yon grave, 

i Three volleys let his mem'ry crave 

! O' pouther an' lead, 

! Till echo answer frae her cave, 

I Tam Samson's d(>ad ! 

Heav'n rest his saul where'er he be ! 
Is the wish o' moiiie niae than me ; 
He had iwa faults, or niay be three, 

Yet what remead 1 
Aeaoc*t«l honest man want we ; 

Tam SaniL-on's dead ! 

' • r 

i 



100 POEMS, 

THE EPITAPH. 

Tarn Samson's weel-born clay here lios, 
Ye canting zealots spare him ! 

If honest worth in heaven rise, 
Ye' II mend or ye win near him. 

PER CONTRA. 

Go, Fame, and canter hl<c a filly 
Thro' a' the streets an' neuks o' Killie,* 
Tell ev'ry social, honest billie 

To cease his grievin. 
For yet, unskaith'd by death's gleg gullie 

Tarn Samson's livin. 



ELEGY OJV C^PT. MATTHEW HEJTDERSO^^ 

A GENTLEMAN WHO HELD THE PATENT FOR HIS HOItOCR 
IMiMiEDIATELY FROM ALMIGHTY OOD. 

But now his radiant course is run, 
For Matthew's course was bright; 

His soul was like the glorious sun, 
A matchless, heavenly light I 

O Death ! thou tyrant fell and bloody ! 
The muckle devil wi' a woodie 
Haurl thee hame to his jlack siniddle, 

O'er hurcheon hides, 
And like stock-fish come o'er his sluddle 

Wi' thy auld sides! 
He's gane, he's gane ! he's frae us tom, 
The ae best fellow e'er was born ! 
Thee, Matthew, Nature's sel shall moum 

By wood and wild, 
Where, haply, Pity strays forlorn, 

Frae man exil'd. 
Ye hills, near neebors o' the starns, 
That proudly cock your cresting cairns ! 
Ye cliffs, the haunts of sailing yearns, 

Where Echo slmnbers! 
Come, join, ye Nature's sturdiest bairnss 

My wailing nnp.il)ers ! 

* Kilmarnock. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH lOJ 

Mourn ilka grove the cushat kens : 
Ye haz'lly shaws and briery dens ! 
Ye bumies, wimplin down your glens, * 

Wi' toddlin din, 
Or foamiug Strang, wi' hasty stens, 
Frae lin to lin. 

i Mourn, little harebells o'er the lee ; 

! Ye stately foxgloves fair to see ; 

Ye woodbines hanging bonilie. 

In scented bow'ra ; 
Ye roses on your thorny tree. 

The first o' flow'rs. 

At dawn, when ev'ry grassy blade 
Droops wiih a diamond at his head. 
At ev'n, when beans their fragrance shed 

r the rustling gale. 
Ye maukins whiddin thro' the glade, 

Come, join my wail. 

Mourn, ye wee songsters o' the wood ; 
Ye grouse that crap the heather bud ; 
Ye curlews calling thro' a clud ; 

Ye whistling plover ; 
And mourn, ye whirring paitrick brood , 

He's gane for ever! 

Mourn, sooty coots, and speckled teals, 
Ye fisher herons, watching eels ; 
Ye duck and drake, wi' airy wheels 

Circling the lake ; 
Ye bitterns, till the quagmire reels, j 

Rair for his sake ! ! 

Mourn, clam' ring craiks at close o' day , 

*Mang fields o' flow'ring clover gay ; \ 

And when ye wing your annual way 
Frae our cauld shore, 
Tell thae far warlds, wha lies in clay, 
Wham we deplore. 

Ye houlets, frae your ivy bow'r, I 

In some auld tree, or eldritch tow'r, 

What time the moon, wi' silent glow'jr, j 

Sets up her born, | 

WaJl thro' the dreary midnight hour, 
Till waukrlfe mom ! 



K)S POEMS, 

O rivem "ests, hills and plains ! 
Oft have ye heard my canty strains: 
But now, what else for me remains 

But tales of wo; 
And frae my een the drapping rains 
Maun ever flow. 



Stop, passenger, my story's brief; 

And truth [ shall relate, man; 
I tell na common tale o' grief, 

For Matthew was a great man. 



Mourn, Spring, thou darling of tbejretf, 

Ilk cowslip cup shall kep a tear ; j 
Thou, Simmer, while each corny spuur 

Shoots up its bead, 

Thy gay, green, flow'ry tresses shear, ' | 

For him that's dead ! , 1 

Thou, Autumn, wi' thy yellow hair, \ \ 

In grief thy sallow mantle tear ! j I 

Thou, Winter, hurling thro' the air j ! 

The roaring blast, I ' 

Wide o'er the naked world declare I , 

The worth we've lost ! "; I 

;1 

Mourn him, thou sun, great source of ligbtl i j 

Mourn, empress of the silent night ! , j 

And you, ye twinkling starries bright, 1 1 

My Matthew mourn : j j 

For through your orbs he's taen bis flight, j ! 

Ne'er to return. ii 

O Henderson I the man ! the brother ! 1 1 

And art thou gone, and gone for ever 1 • 

And hast thou cross'd that unknown river, | 

Life's dreary bound 1 ; I 

Like thee, where shall I find aitother, ! i 

The warld around ! i 

Go to your sculptur'd tombs, ye great, ' 1 1 

In a' the tinsel trash o' state ! ! i 

But by thy honest turf I'll wait, i 

Thou man of worth! 
And weep the ae best fellow's fate 

E'er lay in earth. j 

''\ 

THE EPITAPH. i \ 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 

If thou uncommon merit hast, 
Yet spurn' d at Fortune's door, man ; 

A look of pity hither cast, 
For Matthew was a poor man. 

If thou a nohlcr sodger art, 
That passest by this grave, man. 

There moulders here a gallant heart, 
For Matthew was a brave man. 

If thou on men, their works and ways, 
Canst throw uncommon light, man ; 

Here lies wha weel had won thy praise, 
For Matthew was a bright man. 

If thou at friendship's sacred ca' 
Wad life itself resign, man ; 

Thy sympathetic tear maun fa', 
For Matthew was a kind man : 

If thou art staunch, without a stain, 
Like the unchanging blue, man I 

This was a kinsman o' thy sin. 
For Mattliew was a true man. 

If thou hast wit, and fun, and fire. 
And ne'er guid wine did fear, man; 

Tiiis was thy billie, dam and sire. 
For Matthew was a queer man. 

If onie whiggish, wliingle sot, 
To blame poor Matthew dare, man : 

May dool and sorrow be his lot, 
For Matthew was a rare man. 



103 



OJV Jl SCOTCH BARD 

GONE TO THE WEST INDIES. 

A' YE wha live by soups o' drink, 
A* ye wha live by criimbo-clink, 
A' ye wha live and never think. 

Come mourn wi' me ! 
Onxhillie's gien us a' the jink. 
An' owre the sea. 



I 

i 

1 

104 POEMS, 

Lament him, a' ye rantin core, 
Wha dearly like a random-splore, 
Nae mair he'll join the merry roar, 

In social key ; 
For now he's taen anither shore, 
An' owre the sea. 

The bonie lasses weel may wiss him, 
And in their dear petitions place him ; 
The widows, wives, aii' a' may bless llim, 

Wi' tearfu' e'e ; 
For weel I wat they'll sairly miss him, 

That's owre the sea. 

O Fortune ! they liae room to grumble ; 
Hadst thou taen affsome drowsy bummle, 
Wha can do nought but fyke an' fumble, 

'Twad been nae plea ; j 

But he was gleg as onie wumble, ! ; 

That's owre the sea. j | 

Auld, cantle Kyle may weepers wear, i 

An' stain them wi' the saut, saut tear ; j j 

'Twill make her poor auld heart, I fear, | ; 

In flinders flee ; 
He was lier laureate monie a year 

That's owre the sea. 

He saw misfortune's cauld nor-west 
Lang mustering up a bitter blast ; 
A jillet brak his heart at Jast, 

III may she be! 
So, took a birth afore the mast. 
An' owre the sea. 

To tremble under Fortune's cummock. 
On scarce a bellyfu' o' drummock, 
Wi' his proud, independent stomach, 

Could ill agree''; 
So, row't his hurdies in a hammock. 

An' owre the sea. 



He ne'er was gien to great misguiding, 
Yet coin his pouches wad na bide in ; 
, Wi' him it ne'er was under hiding 

He dealt it free : 
I The Muse was a' that he took pride A, 

That's owre the sea. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. lOS Ij 

Jamaica bodies, use liim weel, i | 

An' liap him in a cozie biel ; 1 1 

Ye'll find him ay a dainty cliiel, j 

And fou o' glee ; i 
lie wad nawrang'd the vera Deil, 

That's owre tlio eea. 1 

Fareweel, my rhymc-cnmposivg billie ! \ 

Your native soil was right ill-wiUie ; ' 

Bui may ye flourish hke a lily, | 

Now bonilie ! j 

I'll toast ye in my hindmost gillie, ! 

Tho' owre the sea. i 



OJV PJiSTOR^L POETRY. 



Hail, Poesie ! thou nymph reserv'd ! ; 

in chase o' thee, what crowds hae swerv'd 
Frae common sense, or simk cncrv'd I 

'Mang heaps o' clavers ; ■ 

And och ! o'er aft thy joes ae starv'd, j i 

'Slid a' tliy favours ! i | 

Say, Lassie, why thy train amang, 1 

While loud the trump's heroic clang, i 

And sock or buskin skclp alang 1 1 

To death or marriage ; j 

Scarce anc has tried the shepherd-sang { 

But wi' miscarriage 1 i 

In Homer's craft Jock Milton thrives ; \ 

Eschylus' pen Will Shakspoare drives; j 

Wee Pope, the knurlin till him rives i 

Iloratian fame ; i 

In thy Bweet sang, Barbauld, survives j 

Ev'n Sappho's flame. j 

But thee, Theocritus \ wha matches 1 \ 

They're no herd's ballats, Maro's catches : | 

Squire Pope but busks his skinklin patches ! 

O' heathen tatters : i 

I pass by hunders, nameless wretches, j 

That ape their betters, j 

In this braw age o' wit and lear, 1 1 

Will naiie the Shepherd's whistle miiir \ \ 

Blaw sweetly in its native air i ; 

And rural grace ; ij 

And wi' the far-fani'd Grecian, share • 

A rival place ? • 

Vol. II. H i 



106 POEjMS, 

Yes ! there is ane ; a Scottish callan : 
There's ane ; come forrit, honest Allan .' 
Thou need na jouk behint the hallan, 

A chiel sae clever ; 
The teeth o' time may gnaw Tamtallan, 

But thou's for ever. 

j j Thou paints auld Nature to the nines, 

1 1 In thy sweet Caledonian lines ; 

1 1 Nae gowden stieam thro' myrtles twines, 

i Where Philomel, 

j While nightly breezes sweep the vines, 

I Her griefs will tell ! 

i In gowany glens thy burnie strays, 

j Where bonie lasses bleach their claes; 

! Or trots by hazelly shaws and braes, 

I { Wi' hawthorns gray, 

i [ Where blackbirds join the shepherd's lays 

I I ' At close o' day. 

Thy rural loves are nature's sel ; 
Nae bombast spates o' nonsense swell ; 
Nae snap conceits, but that sweet spell 

O' witchin love. 
That charm that can the strongest qtiell, 

The sternest move. 



PROLOGUE, 

BPOKEN AT THE THEATRE, ELLISLAND, ON NBW-TBAR DAT 

EVENING. 

No song nor dance I bring from yon great city 
That queens it o'er our taste— the more's the pity t 
Tho', by the by, abroad why will you roam 1 
Good sense and taste are natives here at home: 
But not for panegyric I appear, 
I come to wish you all a good new-year ! 
Old Father Time deputes me here before ye, 
Not for to preach, but tell his simple story : 
The sage, grave Ancient cough'd, and bade me Of 
" You're one year older this important day :" 
If wiser too— he hinted some suggestion, 
But 'twould be rude, you know, to ask the question ; 
And with a would-he rngui?;h leer and wink, 
He bade me on you pre??? this nv.p word — " thinkP^ 

w 



CHIEFL Y SCO TTISU. 107 

Ye sprightly youths, quite flush with hope and spirit, 
Who think to storm the world by dint of merit, 
To you the Dotard has a deal to say, 
In his sly, dry, sententious, proverb way ! 
He bids you mind, amid your thoughtless rattle, 
That the first blow is ever half the battle : 
That tho' some by the skirt may try to snatch him , 
Yet by the forelock is the hold to catch him : 
That whether doing, suffering, or forbearing, 
You may do miracles by persevering. 

Last tho' not least in love, ye youthful fair 
Angelic forms, high Heav'n's peculiar care ! 
To you aula Bald-pate smooths his wrinkled brow, 
And humbly begs you'll mind the important — now ! 
To crown your happiness he asks your leave, 
And offers, bliss to give and to receive. 

For our sincere, tho' haply weak endeavours, 
With grateful pride we own your many favours: 
And howsoe'er our tongues may ill reveal it. 
Believe our glowing bosoms truly feel it. 



PROLOGUE, 1 1 

SPOKEN BY MR. WOODS, ON HIS BENEFIT-NIGHT. ; 

Monday, 16iA Jlpril, 1787. 

When by a generous public's kind acclaim, | 

That dearest meed is granted — honest fame ; ' 

When here your favour is the actor's lot, i '■ 

Nor even the man in private life forgot ; \ [ 

What breast so dead to heav'nly Virtue's glow, i i 

But heaves impassion'd with the grateful throe ? i | 

Poor is the task to please a barb'rous throng, 1 ' 

It needs no Siddons' powers in Southron's song ; I ' 

For here an ancient nation, fam'd afar 1 ' 

For genius, learning high, as great in war — j \ 

Hail, Calodonia I name for ever dear ! ! i 

Before whose sons I'm honour'd to appear ! i ; 

Where every science— every nobler art — ! ■ 

That can inform the mind, or mend the heart, i : 

Is known ; as grateful nations oft Irave found, 1 1 

Far as the rude barbarian marks the bound. 1 j 

li 

ii 



103 POEMS^ 

Philosophy, no idle pendant dream, 

Here holds her search by heaven-taught Reason's 1 

Here History paints witli elegance and force, 

The tide of Empire's fluctuating course ; 

Here Douglas forms wild Shakspeare into plan. 

And Harley* rouses all the god in man. 

When well-form' d taste and sparkling wit unite. 

With manly lore, or female beauty bright, 

(Beauty, where faultless symmetry and grace, 

Can only charm us in the second place,) 1 \ 

Witness, my heart, how oft with panting feai; { | 

As on tliis night, I've met these judges here ! ! i 

But stiil the hope Experience taught to live, i | 

Equal to judge — you're candid to forgive. | 

No hundred-headed Riot here we meet, i 

With decency and law beneath hi.s feet ; I 

Nor Insolence assumes fair Freedom's namo ; | 

Like Caledonians^ you applaud or blame. i 

O Thou : dread Po wer : whose empire-giving hand ! 

Has ot't been stretcli'd to shield the honour'd land ! 1 1 

Strong may she glow with all her ancient fire ; j 

May every son be worthy of his sire ; j I 

Firm may she rise with generous disdain, | j 

At Tyranny's or direr Pleasure's chain ; 
Still self-dependent in her native shore, 
bold may she brave grim Danger's lotidest roar 
Till Fate the curtain drop on worlds to be no more, 



aore. > 



THE RIGHTS OF JVOMAJV, 

i.N OCCASIONAL ADDRESS SPOKEN BY MISS FONTKNKLLE ON 
HER BENEFIT NIGHT. 

While Europe's eye is fLx'd on mighty things, 
The fate of empires and the fall of kings ; 
Wliile quacks of state must each produce his plain, 
And even children lisp the Ri^rkts of Man; 
Amid this mighty fuss, just let me mention, 
The Rights of Woman merit some attention. 

First in the sexes' intermix'd connexion, 
One sacred right of Woman \s ■protection.— 
The tender flower that lifts its head, elate, 
Helpless must fall before the blast of fate, 

* The Man of Feeling, written by Mr. M^KsHzie* 



CHIEFL Y SCO TTISH 100 

Sunk on the earth, defac'd its lovely form, 
Unless your shelter ward ih' impending storm. 

Our second Right— but needless here is caution, 
To keep that right inviolate's the fashion, 
Each man of sense lias it so full before him. 
He'd die before he'd wrong it — 'tis decorum.— 
There was indeed, in far less polish'd days, 
A time when rough, rude man had nauglity ways ; 
Would swagger, swear, get drunk, kick^'up a riot. 
Nay, even thus invade a lady's quiet — 
Now, thank our stars ! these Gothic times are fled : 
Now, well-bred men — and you are all well bred — 
Most justly think (and we are much the gainers) 
Such conduct neither spirit, wit, nor manners. 

For Right the third, our last, our best, our dearest. 
That right to fluttering female hearts the nearest. 
Which even the Rights of Kings in low prostration. 
Most humbly own — 'tis dear, dear admiration! 
In that blest sphere alone we live and move. 
There taste that life of life — immortal love.— 
Smiles, glances, sighs, tears, fits, flirtations, airs, 
'Gainst such a host what flinty savage dares — 
When awful Beauty joins with all her charms. 
Who is so rash as rise in rebel arms? 

But truce with kings, and truce with coastitutiona. 
With bloody armaments and revolutions ; 
Let majesty your first attention summon, 
jSh ea Ira I the Majesty of Woman ! 



ADDRESS, 

BPOEEN BY Miss FONTENELLE, ON HER BENEFIT-NIGHT 
DECEMBER 4, 1795, AT THE THEATRE, DUMFRIES 

Still anxious to secure your partial favour, 
And not less anxious sure this night than ever, 
A Prologue, Epilogue, or some such matter, 
'Twould vamp my bill, said I, if nothing better : 
So, sought a Poet, roosted near the skies. 
Told him I came to feast my curious eyes ; 
Said, nothing like his works was ever printed ; 
And last my Prologue-business slily hinted. 
" Ma'am, let me tell you," quoth my man of rhymes, 
•« I know your bent— these are no laughing times : 



1!" y 



IIG POEMS, 

Can you— but, Miss, I own I have my fears, 
Dissolve in pause — and sentimental tsars — 
Witli laden sighs, and solemn-rounded sentence, 
Rouse from his sluggish slumbers, fell Repentance; 
Paint Vengeance as he takes his horrid stand, 
Waving on high the desolating brand, 
, Callinglhe storms to bear him o'er a guilty land ! 

j I could no more— askance tlie creature eyeing, 

I D'ye think, said I, this face was made for crying! 

H I ril laugh, that's poz— nay more, the world shedl know it| 

; And so, your servant I gloomy master poet ! 

i Firm as my creed, Sir, 'tis my fix'd belief, 

] ; That Misery's another word for Grief; 

I : I also think — so may I be a bride ! 

I ! That so much laugliter's so much life enjoy'd. 

j ! Thou man of crazy care and ceaseless sigh, 

1 1 Siili under bleak Misfortune's blasting eye; 

I \ Doom'd to that sorest task of man alive — 

\ ; To make three guineas do tiie work of five ; 

1 ' Laugh in Misfortune's face — the beldam witch I 

I ; Say, you'll be merry, tho' you can't be rich. 

\ ; Thou other man of care, the wretch in love, 

j ; Who long with jiltish arts and airs hast strove : 

I I Who, as the boughs all temptingly project, 

I i ftleasur'st in desperate thouglit— a rope— thy neck— 

j j Or, where the bleetiiig clilf o'erliangs tlie deep, 

i ! Peerest to meditate the healing leap ; 

! j Would'st thou be cur'd, thou silly, moping elf* 

i • Laugh at her follies— laugh e'en at thyself: 

j I Learn to despise those frowns, now so terrific, 

! ! And love a kinder — that's your grand specific. 

I To sum up all, be merry, 1 advise ; 

; And as we're merry, may we still be wise. 



: bRAOMEIN'T, 

1 INSCRIBED TO THE RIOHT DON. O. J. FOX. 

! How wisdom and folly meet, mix, and unite. 

How virtue and vice blend their black and their white, 

i How genius, th' illustrious father of fiction. 

Confounds rule and law, reconciles conuadiction— j 
j; I sing: If these mortals, the critics, should bustle, ' 

I care not, not I, let the critics go whistle. 

i 
1 



CHIEFL Y S CO TTISH. 1" 

But now for a Patron, whose name and whose glory 
At once may illustrate and honour my story. 

Thou first of our orators, first of our wits ; 
Yet whose parts and acquirements seem mere lucky hits; 
With Itnowledge so vast, and with judgment so strong, 
No mau with tlie, half of 'em ere went far wrong ; 
With passions so potent, and fancies so bright, 
No man with the half of 'em e'er went quite right ; 
A sorry, poor misbegot son of the Muses, 
For using thy name offers fifty excuses. 

Good L— d, what is man ! for simple as he looks, 
Do but try to develop his liooks and liis crooks ; 
With his depths and his shallows, his good and his evil, 
All in all he's a problem must puzzle the devil. 

On his one ruling passion sir Pope hugely labours. 
That, like th' old Hebrew walking-sjvitch, eats up itsneigJi- 

Mankind are his show-box— a friend, would you know him 7 

Piill the string— ruling passion the picture will show hira. 

What pity, in rearing so beauteous a system, 

One trifling particular, truth, should have nass'd him ; 

For spite of his fine theoretic positions. 

Mankind U a science defies definitions. 

Some sort all our qualities each to its tribe, 
And think human nature they truly describe: ^ 
Have vou found this or t'other 1 there's more in the wind, 
As by one drunken fellow his comrades you'll find. 
But such is the flaw, or the depth of tlie plan. 
In the make of that wonderful creature, call'd Man, 
No two virtues, whatever relation they claim. 
Nor even two different shades of the same. 
Though like as was ever twin brother to brother. 
Possessing the one shall imply you've the other. 



/JVSCK/PT/OJVr 

FOR AN AtTAR TO INDEPENDENCE, AT KERROTTGHTRV, THI 
BEAT OF MR. HERON, WRITTEN IN SUMMER, 1(95. 

Thou of an independent mind, 

With soul resolv'd, with soul rcsign'd ; , , 

Prepar'd Power's proudest frown to brave, ! j 

Who wilt not be, nor have a slave ; ^ j j 

h 



Virtue alone who dost revere, J 

Thy own reproach alone dost fear, > 

Approach this shrine, and worship here. > 



112 POEMS, 

ADDRESS TO EDINBURGH. 
I. 

Edina ! Scotia's darling seat! 

All hail thy palaces and tow're, 
Where once'beneath a monarch's feet 

Sal legislation's sov'reign pow'rs ! 
From marking wildly-scatter'd flow'rs, 

As on the banks of,9yr I stray'd, 
And singing, lone, the ling'ring hours, 

I shelter in thy honour'd shade. • 

n. 

Here wealth still swells the golden tide, 

As busy trade his labours plies ; 
There architecture's noble pride 

Bids elegance and splendour rise; 
Here Justfce, from her native skies, 

High wields her balance and her rod ; 
There Learning with his eagle eyes, 

Seeks science in lier coy abode. 

ni. 

Thy sons, Edina, social, kind, 

With open arms the stranger hail ; 
Their views enlarg'd, their lib'ral mind 

Above the narrow, rural vale; 
Attentive still to soiTOw's wail, 

Or modest merit's silent claim ; 
And never may their sources fail ! 

And never envy blot their name. 

IV. 

Thy daughters bright tliy walks adorn ! 

Gay as the gilded summer sky, 
Sweet as the dewy milk-white thorn, 

Dear as the raptur'd thrill of joy ! 
Fair B strikes th' adoring eye ! 

Heav'n's beauties on my fancy shine, 
I see the sire of love on high. 

And own his work indeed divine ! 



There, watching high the least alarms, 
Thy rough, rude fortress gleams afar ; 

Like some bold vet'ran, gray in arms. 
And mark'd with many a seamy scar ; 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 

The pond'rous wall and massy bar. 
Grim-rising o'er the rugged rock ; 

Have oft witi>stood assaiUng war, 
And oft repelled the invader's shock. 

VI. 

With awe-struck thought and pitying tears, 

I view that noble, stately dome. 
Where Scotia's kings of other years, 

Fam'd heroes, had their royal home : 
Alas ! how Chang' d the time to come ; 

Theu* royal name low in the dust I 
Their hapless race wild-wand'ring roam ! 

The' rigid law cries out, 'twas just ! 

vn. 

Wild beats my heart to trace your steps, 

Whose ancestors, in days of yore, 
Thro' hostile ranks and ruin'd gaps. 

Old Scotia- s bloody lion bore ; 
Ev'n /who sing in rustic lore, 

Haply my sires have left their shed, 
And fac'd grim danger's loudest roar, 

Bold following where your fathers led ! 

VUt 
Edina ; Scotia's dariing seat I 

All hail thy palaces and tow'rs. 
Where once beneath a monarch's feel 

Sat legislation's sov'reign pow'rs ! 
From marking wiidly-scatter'd flow'rs, 

As on the banks o'fjlyr I stray'd. 
And singing, lone, the ling'ring hours, 

I shelter in thy honour'd shade. 



113 



/ 



Book V. 

SONGS AND BALLADS. 

ji risioj<f 

As I stood oy yon roofless tower, 

Where the wa'-flower scents the dewy air 
Where the howlet mourns in Iter ivy bower, 

And tells the midnight moon her care : 

The winds were laid, the air was still, 
The stars they shot alan?? the sky : 

The fox was howlin^f on the hill, 
And the distant-echoing glens reply 

The stream, adown its hazelly path. 

Was rushing by the ruin'd wa's, 
Hasting to join the sweeping Nith, 

Whase distant roaring swells and fa's. 

The cauld blue north was streaming forth 
Her lights, wi' hissing eerie din ; 

Athon the lift they start and shift, 
Like Fortune's favours, tint as win. 

By heedless chance I turn'd my eyes, 
And by the moon-beam, shook, to seo 

A stern and stalwart ghaist arise, 
Attir'd as minstrels wont to be. 

Had I statue been o' stane. 
His darin look had daunted me: 

And on his bonnet grav'd was plain, 
The sacred posy— Lf.bertie ! 

And frae his harp sic strains did flow, 
Might rous'd the slumbeiing dead to h«ar ; 

But oh : it was a tale of wo, 
As ever met a Briton's ear ! 



POEMS, CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 115 

He sang wi' joy his former day. 

He, weeping, wail'd his latter times; 
But what he said it was nae play, 

I winna ventur't in my rhymes.* 



BAJ^KOCK B VRJ^. 

ROBERT BRUCE'S ADDRESS TO HIS ARMY 

Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, 

Scots, wham Bruce has aften led ; 

Welcome to your gory bed, 
Or to glorious victorie. 

Now's the day, and now's the hour ; 

See the front o' battle lower ; 

See approach proud Edward's power- 
Edward 1 chains ! and slaverie ! 

Wha will be a traitor knave ? 

Wha can fill a coward's grave "? 

Wha sae base as be a slave 1 
Traitor ! coward ! turn and flee ! 

Wha for Scotland's king and law | 

Freedom's sword will strongly draw, i 

Free-man stand, or free-man fa'1 i 

Caledonian ! on wi' me ! 1 

By oppression's woes and pains ! i 

By your sons in servile chains ! i 

We will drain our dearest veins, | 

But they shall be— shall be free 1 j 

Lay the proud usurpers low ! 

TjTants fall in every foe I 

Liberty's in every blow ! 
Forward ! let us do, or die I ' 

• The scenery so finely described in this poem, is taken \ 

from nature. The poet is supposed to be musing, by night, | 

•» the banks of the Cluden, near the ruins of Lincludai- abbey, j 

•/ tohich some account is given in Pennant's Tour and | 

Grote's Antiquities. It is to be regretted that he suppressed j 

the eong of Libertie. From the resources of his genius, and j 

the grandeur and solemnity of the preparation, something { 

might have been anticipated, equal, if not superior, to the i 

Address of Bruce to his Army, to the Song of Death, or to ! 

the fervid and noble description of the Irving Soldier in the | 
field of batUe. 



110 POEMS, 

SONG OF DEATH. 

SoKyK—j3 field of battle. Tivic of the day— Evening.— The 
wounded and dying of the victorious army are supposed 
to join in the foUoicing Song. 

Farewell, thou foir day, Ihou green earth, and ye skies. 

Now gay with the bright setting sun ; 
Farewell, loves and friendships, ye dear tender ties, 

Our race of cxi;<tence is run ! 

Thou grim king of terrorts, thou life'a gloomy foe, 

Go, frighten the coward and slave : 
Go, teach tliem to tremble, fell tyrant! but know. 



No terrors liast thou to the brave I j 

Thou slrik'st the dull peasant— he sinks in the dark, | 

Nor saves e'en the wreck of a name : 
Thou strik'st the young hero — a glorious mark ! 

He falls in the blaze of his fame ! 
In the field of prr -d honour — our swords in our hands, 

Our King and lur covmtry to save— j 

While Victory shines on life's last ebbing sands, I 

O ! who woul - not rest with the brave ! 



IMITJiTIOJ^ 

I 

i 1 OF AN OLD JACOBIT7: SONG. 

j By yon castle wa' at the close of the dny, 

I I heard a man sing, lliough his head it was gray; 

I And as he was singing, the teai.^ fast down came— 
There'll never be peace till Jamie comes harne. 

I I The church is in ruins, the state is in ;ars ; j 
Delusions., oppressions, and niiuiicrous wars ; 

" We dare na weel say't, but we ken wha's to blame — | 

i There'll never be peace till Jamie conies hame. 

I My seven braw sons for Jamie drew sword. 

And now I greet round their green beds in the yerd, | 

It brak the sweet heart o' my faitlifu' auld dame— | 

There'll never be peace till .Jamie comes hame. 
Now life is a burden that bows mo down, 
Sin' I tint mv bairns, and he tint his crown ; 
But till my last moment my words are the same- 
There 11 never be peace till Jamie comes liame. | i 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 117 

THE LASS OF INVERNESS 

Thb lovely lass o' Inverness, 

Nae joy nor pleasure can she see ; 
For e'en and morn she cries, alas ! 

And aye the saut tear blin's her e'e! 

Drumossie moor, Drumossie day, 

A waefu' day it was to me ; 
For there I lost my father dear, 

My father dear, and brethren three. 

Their winding-sheet the bluidy day, 
Their graves are growing green to see, 

And by them lies the dearest lad 
That ever blest a woman's e'e 1 

Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord, 

A bluidy man I trow thou be , 
For mpnie a heart thou hast made sair. 

That ne'er did wrong to thine or the© 



THE ABSEJ^T WARRIOR 

Tune—^' Logan Water." 

O Logan, sweetly didst thou glide. 
That day I was my Willie's bride ; 
And years sinsyne have o'er us run. 
Like Logan to the simmer sun. 
But now thy flow'ry banks appear, 
Like drumlie winter, dark and drear ; 
While my dear lad niaun face his taes, 
Far, far frae me and Logan braes. 

Again the merry month o' May 
Has made our hills and valleys gay: 
The birds rejoice in leafy bowers. 
The bees hum round the breathing flowerB ; 
Blithe morning lifts his rosy eye, 
And evening's tears are tears ot joy ; 
My soul, delightless, a' surveys. 
While Willie's far frae Logan braes. 



118 POEMS, 

Within yon milk-white hawthorn bush, 
Amang her nestlings sits the thrush ; 
Her faitlifu' mate will share her toil. 
Or wi' his song her cares beguile ; 
Rut T, wi' my sweet nurslings here, 
Nae mate to help, nae mate to cheer, 
Tass widow'd nights and joyless days, 
While Willie's far frae Logan braes. 

O wae upon you, men o' state, 
That brethren rouse to deadly hate I 
As ye make monie a fond heart mourn, 
Sae may it on j'our heads return ! 
How can j'our flinty hearts enjoy 
The widow's tears, the orphan's cfy 1 
But soon may peace bring happier days, 
And Willie, hame to Logan braes! 



THE WARRIOR'S RETURJ^T. 
Mr—'' The Mill, MUl, O 

When wild war's deadly blast was blawo* 

And gentle peace returning, 
Wi' monie a sweet babe fatherless. 

And monie a widow mourning : 

I left the lines and tented field, 
Where lang I'd been a lodger, 

My humble knapsack a' my wealth, 
A poor and honest sodger. 

A leal, light heart was in my breast, 
My hand unstain'd wi' plunder ; 

And for fair Scotia hame again, 
I cheery on did wander. 

I thought upon the banks o' Coil, 

I thought upon my Nancy, 
I thought upon the witching emlle 

That caught my youthful fancy. 

At length I reach'd the bonie glen. 

Where early life T sported ; 
1 passed the mill and trystin thorn, 

Wliere Nancy aft I courted : 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 119 

Wha spied I but my ain dear maid, 

Down by her mother's dwelling ! 
And turn'd me round to hide Uie flood 

That In my een was swelling. 

Wi' alter'd voice, quoth I, sweet lass ' i 

Sweet as yon hawthorn's blossom, 1 1 

O ! happy, happy may he be, i \ 

That's dearest to thy bosom ! j ! 

My purse is light, I've far to gang, j j 

And fain would be thy lodger ; j 

I've serv'd my king and country lang, ! j 

Take pity on a sodger. j | 

Sae wistfully she gaz'd on me, ! i 

And lovelier was than ever : \ \ 

Quo' she, a sodger ance I lo'ed, j i 

Forget him shall I never : i I 

Our humble cot, and hamely fare, 1 1 

Ye freely shall partake it, i 1 

That gallant badge, the dear cockade, \ \ 

Ye' re welcome for the sake o't. | j 

She gaz'd— she reddcn'd like a rose— i j 

Syne pale like ony lily ; I j 

She sank within my arms, and cried, i i 

Art thou my ain dear Willie 1 i i 

By him who made yon sun and sky— 1 1 

By whom true love's regarded, i j 

I am the man ; and thus may still | i 

True lovers be rewarded. i i 

The wars are o'er, and I'm come hauie, I : 

And find thee still true-hearted : j I 

Tho' poor in gear, we're rich in love, i j 

And mair we'se ne'er be parted. j 

Quo' she, my grandsire left me gowd, { j 

A mailen plenish'd fairly ; ! i 

And come, my faithful sodger lad, I 

Thou'rt welcome to it dearly ! I j 

For gold the merchant ploughs the main I \ 

Tlie farmer ploughs the manor ; i | 
But glory is the sodger's prize ; 

The sodger'a wealth is honour : 
The brave poor sodger ne'er despise 

Nor count him as'^a stranger, 
Remember he's his country's stay 

In day and hour of danger. 



1-20 FOEMS, 

LORD GREGORY. 

O MIRK, mirk is this midniglit hour, 
And loud the tempest's roar ; 

A waefu' wanderer seeks tliy tow'r, 
Lord Gregory, ope thy door. 

An exile frae her father's ha'. 

And a' for loving thee ; 
At least some pity on me shew, 

Ulove it may na be. 

Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the groYe 

By bonie Irwine side, 
Where first I own'd that virgin-love 

I lang, lang had denied. 

How aften didst thou pledge and vow, 
Thou wad for ay be mine ! 

And my fond heart, itsel sae true, 
It ne'er mistrusted thine. 

Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory, 

And flinty is tliy breast ; 
Thou dart of Heaven that flashes! by, 

O wilt thou give me rest ; 



I Yc mustering thunders from above, 

Your willing victim see I 
But spare, and pardon my fause love, 
His wrangs to Heaven and me ! 



OPEJ^ THE DOOR TO ME, OH I 

WITH ALTERATIONS 



Oh, open the door, some pity to sliow 

Oh, open the door to me, Oh ! 
Tho' thou hast been false, I'll ever prove true, 

Oh, open the door to me. Oh ! 

Cauld is the blast upon my pale cheek, 
But caulder thy love for me, Oh ! 

Tlie frost that freezes the life at ray heart, 
Is nought to my -uains frae thee, Oh ! 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 181 

The wan moon is setting behind the wnite wave 

And time is setting with me, Oh ! 
False friends, false love, farewell ! for mair 

ru ne'er trouble them nor thee, Oh ! 

She has open'd the door, she has open'd it wide ; 

She sees his pale corse on the plain, Oh ! 
My true love, she cried, and sank down by his side, 

Never to rise again. Oh ! 



THE EJ^TREATY. 
TVne— " Let me in this ae night." 

O LASSIE, art thou sleeping jetl 
Or art thou wak\n, I would wit ? 
For Love has bound me hand and foot, 
And I would fain be in, jo. 



O let me in this ae nighty 
This ae, ae, ae night; 

For pity's sake, this ae night, 
O rise and let ms in, jo. 

Tliou hear'st the winter wind and weet, 
Nae star blinks thro' the driving eleet ; 
Tak pity on my weary feet. 

And shield me frae the rain, jo 
O let, &c. 

The bitter blast that round me blaws, 
Unheedea howls, unheeded fa's ; 
The cauldness o' thy heart's the cause 
Of a' mv grief and pain, jo. 
O let, &c. 



THE AJ^SWER. I 

O TELL na me o' wind and ram. 
Upbraid na me wi' cauld disdam ! 

Gae back the gate ye cam again. i 

I winna let you in, jo. { 

Vol. II. I 



122 POEMS^ 

CHORUS. 

I tell you now this tie nigkt^ 

This ae, ae, ae night; 
^9nd ancefn'^ a" £iis ae night 

i loinnd let you in, jo. 

The sneliest Wast, at mirkest hours, 
That round the pathless wand'rer pours, 
Is iiocht to what jwor she endures. 
That's trusted faithless man, ja 

I tell, &c. I 

Tlie sweetest flower that deck'd the mead, ; | 

Now trodden like the vilest weed ; ! i 

Let simple aiaid the lesson read, | ] 

The weird may be her ain, jo. • I 

I tell, &c. I ] 

The bird that charrn'd his summer-day, i i 

Is now the cruel fowler's prey ; 1 1 

Let witless, trusting woman say 1 1 

How aft her fate's the same, jo. I 

I tell, &c. 



THE FOR LOR J^ LOVER. 

Tune—* Let me in this ae night." ^ 

Forlorn, my love, no comfort near, 

Far, far from thee, I wander here, 

Far, far from thee, the fate severe I 

At which 1 most repine, love. i 

CHORUS. 

O loert thou, love, but near me, 
But near, near, near me: 
Hoio kindly thou wouldst cheer me, 
Jlnd mingle sighs with mifie, love. 

Around me scowls a wint'ry sky. 
That blasts each bud of hope and joy; 
And shelter, shade, nor home have if. 
Save in those arms of thine, love. 
O wert. &c 



i 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 123 

Cold, alterM friendship's cruel part. 
To poison Fortune's ruthless dart- 
Let ine not break tliy faithful heart, 

And say that fate is mine, love. 
O wert, &c. 
But dreary iho' the moments fleet, 
O let me think we yet shall meet : 
That only ray of solace sweet 

Can "on thy Chloris shine, love. 
O wert, •Sec. 



THE DREARY J^IGHT. ; 

Tune—^^ Cauld Kail in Aberdeen." j 

How long and dreary is the night, \ 

When I am frae my dearie ! | 

I restless lie frae e'en to morn, j 

Though I were ne'er sae weary. 

CHORUS. ! 

For oh, her lancly nights a-'-e lang; 

Jind oh, her dreams arc eerie; 
And oht her widow' d heart is sair, 

Thai's absent frae her dearie. 
When I think on the lightsome days 

I spent wi' thee, my dearie ; 
And now what seas between us roar. 

How can 1 but be eerie 1 

For oh, &c. 
How Blow ye move, ye heavy hours ; 

The joyless day, how dreary ! 
It was na sae ye jilintcd by, 

When I viras wi' my dearie. 
For oh, &c. 



POORTITH CAULD 
Tune—"' I had a horse." 
O pooRTiTH cauld, and restless love 
Ye wreck my peace between ye ; 
Yet poortith a' I could forgive, 
An' 'twere na for my Jeany. 



134 POEMS 



I 
O why should Fate sic pleasure have I 

Life's dearest bands untwining? 
Or why sae sweet a flower as Love, 

Depend on Fortune's shining ? 

This warld's wealth, when I think on, 

Il's pride and a' the lave o't ; 
Fie, fie-on silly coward man, 

That he should be the slave o't. 
O why, &c. 

Her een sae bonie blue betray I 

How she repays my passion ; 
But prudence is her o'erword ay, 1 

She talks of rank and fashion. 
O why, &c. 

O wha can prudence think upon, 

And sic a lassie by him 1 
O wha can prudence think upon, 

And sae in love as I am 1 
O why, &c. 

How blest the humble colter's fate ! 

lie woos his simple dearie ; 
The sillie bogles, wealth and state, 

Can never make them eerie. 
O why, &c. 



CLJIRIJ^'D^. 

Clarinda, mistress of my soul, 
The measur'd time is run • 

The wretch beneath the dreary pole. 
So marks his latest sun. 

To what dark cave of frozen night 

Shall poor Sylvander hie ; 
Depriv'd of thee, his life and h'ght, 

Tlie sun of all his joy. 

We part— but by these precious dit^ 

That fill thy lovely eyes ! 
No other light shall guide my steps 

Till thy bright beams arise. 



7 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 125 

The, the fair sun of all her sei, 

Has blest my glorious day ; 
And shall a glimmering planet fix 

My worship to its ray 1 



IS.^BELL.3. 
Tune—"- M'Grigor of Rero's Lament." 

Ravino winds around her blowing, 
Yellow leaves tl'.e woodlands strewing, 
By V. river hoarsely roaring, 
Isabella stray' d, deploring— 
» Farewell, hours that late did measure 
Sunshine days of joy and pleasure ; 
Hail, tliou glooniv iiieht ot sorrow. 
Cheerless nii;ht tha« knows no morrow. 
" O'er the past too fondly wandering. 
On the hopeless future pondering ; 
Chilly grief my lile-blood freezes, 
Fell despair my fancy seizes. 
Life, thou soul of every blessing, 
Load to misery most distressing, 
O how gladly I'd resign thee. 
And to dark oblivion join thee ! 



WAKDERIJ^O triLi^lE. 

Ubri awa, there awa, wandering Willie, 

Here awa, there awa, hand away hame ; 
Come to my bosom, my ain only dt^rie. 

Tell me thou bring'st me my WiUie the same. 
Winter winds blew loud and cauld at our parting, 

Fears for my Willie brought tears in mv e e ; 
Welcome now simmer, and welcome my Willie, 

The simmer to nature, my Willie to me. 
Rest, ye wild storms, in tlie cave of your slumbers, 

How your diead howling a lover alarms ! ^ 
Wauken, ye breezes, row gently, ye billows . 

And waft n.y dear laddie ance mair to my arms 



POEMS, 

But oh, if he's faithless, and minds na his Nanie, 
Flow still between us, thou wide-roaring main ; 

May I never see it, may I never trow it, 
But, dying, believe that my Willie's ray ain ! 



THE PJiRTmO KISS. 

Jockey's taen the parting Itiss, 
O'er the mountains he is gane ; 

And with him is a' my bliss. 
Nought but griefs with me remain. 

Spare my luve, ye winds that blaw, 
Flashy sleets and beating rain ! 

Spare my luve, thou feathery gnaw, 
Drifting o'er the frozen plain ! 

When the shades of evening creep 
O'er the day's fair, gladsome e'e, 

Sound and safely may he sleep, 
Sweetly blithe his waukening be ! 

He will think on her he loves, 
Fondly lie' 11 repeat her name; 

For where'er he distant roves, 
Jockey's heart is still at hame. 



THE ROARIJ^'O OCEAJf. j 

Tune—''' Druimion dubh.' ' j 

Musing on the roaring ocean, j 

Which divides my love and me ; | ! 

Wearying Heaven in warm devotion, j j 

For his weal, where'er he be. i 

Hope and fear's alternate billow I i 

Yielding late to Nature's law ; j 

Whisp'ring spirits round my pillow I 

Talkof him that's far awa. ij 

Ye whom sorrow never wounded, 

Ye who never shed a tear, 
Care-untroubled, joy-surrounded, 

Gaudy day to you is dear. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. W 

Gentle night, do thou befriend me ; | ; 

Downy sleep the curtain draw ; i 

Spirita kind, again attend me, 

Talk of him that's far awa ; 



FAIR BLlZJi. 

A GAELIC AIR. 

Turn again, thou fair Eliza, 

Ae kind blink before we part, 
Rew on thy despairing lover I 

Canst thou break his faithfu' htfH t» 
Turn agaiu, thou fair Eliza ; 

If to love thy heart denies, 
For pity hide the cruel sentence 

Under friendship's kind disguise \ 

Thee, dear maid, hae I offended 1 

The offence is loving thee ; 
Canst thou wreck his peace for ever, 

Wha for thine would gladly die 1 
While the life beats in my bosom, 

Thou shall mix in ilka throe , 
Turn again, thou lovely maiden, 

Ae sweet smile on me bestow. 

Not the bee upon the blossom. 

In the pride o' sinny noon : 
Not the little sporting fairy, 

All beneath the simmer moon ; 
Not the poet in the moment 

Fancy lightens on his e'e. 
Kens the pleasure, feels the rapture. 

That thy presence gies to me. 



ELIZA. 
7\in«—" Nancy's to the Greenwood," &c. 

Farewell, thou stream that winding flowf 

Around Eliza's dwelling ! 
O mem'ry, spare the cruel throes 

Within my bosom swelling. 



1S8 POEMS, I 

CondeoinM to drag a hopeless chain, j 

And yet in secret languish, 

To feel a fire in ev'ry vein, I 

Nor dare disclose my anguish. j 

Love's veriest wretch, unseen, unknown, | 

I fain my griefs would cover : j 
The bursting sigh, th' unweeting groan 

Betray the hapless lover. 

I know thou doom'st me to despair, \ 

Nor wilt nor canst relieve me ; 1 

But oh, Eliza, hear one prayer, j 

For pity's sake forgive me. 



The music of thy voice I heard. 

Nor wist, while it enslav'd me ; 
I saw thine eyes, yet nothing fear'd, 

Till fears no more had sav'd me : 
The unwary sailor thus aghast, 

The wheeling torrent viewing ; 
Mid circling horrors sinks at last 

In overwhelming ruin. 



DEPARTURE OF IfAXCT. 

Tu.ne—''^ Oran-gaoil." 

Behold the hour, the boat arrive ; 

Tliou goest, thou darling of my heart ! 
Sever'd from thee, can I survive ? 

But fate has will'd, and we must part 

ni often greet this surging swell, 
Yon distant isle will often hail : 

"E'en here I took the last farewell; 
There latest mark'd her vanish'd sail." 

Along the solitary shore, 

While flitting sea- fowl round me cry, 
Across the rolling, dashing roar, 

I'll westward turn my wistful eye: 

Happy, thou Indian grove, I'll say, 
Where now my Nancy's path may be ! 

While tliro' thy sweets she loves to stray, 
O tell me, does she muse on mc 1 



Il 

CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 189 ! 

MY NANIE'S AWA. 

Tune — " There'll never be peace," &c. 

Now in her green mantle blithe Nature arrays, 
And listens the lambkins that bleat o'er the braes, 
While birds warble welcome in ilka green shaw; 
But to me it's deligliticss — my Narne's awa. 

The snaw-drap and primrose our woodlands adorn, 
And violets bathe in the weet o' the mom ; 
They pain my sad bosom, sne sweetly they blaw, 
They mind mc o' Nanie— and Name's awa. 

Thou lav'rock that springs frae the dews of the lawii| 
The shcphord to warn o' the gray-breaking dawn. 
And thou mellow mavis that hails the night-fa', 
Give over for pity — my Nanic's awa. 

Come, autumn, sae pensive, in yellow and gray 
And sooth me wi' tidings o' Nature's decay : 
The dark dreary winter and wild-driving snaw 
Alane can delight me — now Nanie's awa. 

ji 

GLOOMY DECEMBER. 

Ance malr I hail thee, thou gloomy December ! 

Ance mair I hail thee, wi' sorrow and care ; 
Sad was the parting thou makes me remember. 

Parting wi' Nancy, oh ! ne'er to meet mair ! 

Fond lovers' parting is sweet painful pleasure: 

Hope beaming mild on the soft-parting hour ; 
But the dire feeling, O farnoellfor ever! 

la anguish unmingled and agony pure. 

Wild as the Winter now tearing the forest, 

"Tin the last leaf o' the Summer is flown. 
Such is the tempest has shaken my bosom, 

Since my last hope and last comfort is gone. 

Still as I hail thee, thou gloomy December, 

Still shall I bail thee wi' sorrow and care; 
For sad was the parting thou makes me' remember, 

Parting wi' Nancy, oh, ne'er to meet mair. 



190 POEMS, 

THE BRAES O' BALLOCHMYLE. 

The Catrine woods were yellow seen, 

The flowers decay'd on Catrine lea, 
Nae lav'rock sang on hillock green, 

But Nature sicken'd on The e'e. 

Thro' faded groves Maria sang, ■ ,■ 

Hersel in beauty's bloom the whyle, j i 

And ay the wild-wood echoes rang, i I 

Farewell the braes o' Balloehmyle. I 

Low in your wint'ry beds, ye flowers, • I 

Again ye'll flourish frosli and fair ; ' j 

Ye birdies dumbj in with' ring bowers, | ■ 

Again ye'll charm the vocal air : ; j 

But liere, alas ! for me nae mair ' 

Shall birdie charrn, or flow'rel smile, : I 

Farewell the bonie banks of Ayr, ! j 

Farew^ell, farewell : swoet Ballochmyl*. : 

ii 



BJiJ^KS O' nooM 

Ye banks and braes o' bonie Doon, 
How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair ; 

How can ye chant, ye little birds, 
And I sae weary, fu' o' care ! 



Thou'U break my heart, thou warbling bird. 
That wantons thro' the flowering thorn : 

Thou minds me o' departed joys. 
Departed, never to return. 

Oft hae I rov'd by bonie Doon, 
To see the rose and woodbine twine ; 

And ilka bird sang o' its love. 
And fondly sae did I o' mine. 

Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, 
Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree ; 

And my fause lover stole my rose, 
But, ah ! he left the thorn wi' me. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 131 

CRAGIE-BURN 

7Vn&— " Cragie-buni-vvood." 
Sweet fa's the eve on Cragie-burn, 

And biitlie awakes the morrow, 
But a' the pride o' spring's return 

Can yield me nocht but sorrow. 

I see the flowers and spreading trees, 

I hear the wild birds singing ; 
But what a weary wight can please, 

And care his bosom w ringing 1 

Fain, fain would I my griefs impart, 

Yet dare na for your anger : 
But secret love will break my heart, 

If I conceal it langer. 

If tliou refase to pity me, 

If thou Shalt love anither, 
When yon green leaves fade frae the tree, 

Around my grave they'll witlier. 



THE CHEERLESS SOUL. 
Tune — " Jockey's Grey Breeks." 

Again rejoicing Nature sees 1 5 

Her robe assume its vernal hues, ! 

Her leafy locks wave in the breeze, j ; 

All freshly steep'd in morning dews. | ! 

In vain to me the cowslips blaw, I ; 

In vain to me the vi'iets spring ; ! j 

In vain to me in glen or siiaw, j ■ 

The mavis and the lintwhite sing. j 

Tbe merry plough-boy cheers his team, I 

VVi' joy the tentie seedsman stalks, j j 

But life to me's a weary dream, ;!j 

A dream of ane that never wauks. 1 ^ 

The wanton coot the water skims, 

Amang the reeds the ducklings cry, 
The stately swai majestic swims, 

And every thirg is blest but I. 



J38 POEMS, 

The sheep-herd steeks his fauldiitg slap, 
And owre the moorlands whistles shrill, 

Wi' wild, unequal, wand' ring step 
I meet hun on the dewy hill. 

And when the lark, 'tween light and dark, 
Blithe waukens by the daisy's side, 

And mounts and sings on flittering wings, 
A wo-worn ghaist I hameward glide. 

Come, Winter, with thine angry howl, 
And raging bend the naked tree ; 

Thy gloom will sooth my cheerless soul, 
When Nature all is sad like me ! 



THE DISCOJ\rSOLjlTE LOFER. 

Now spring has clad the groves in 

And strew'd the lea wi' flowers ; 
The furrow' d waving corn is seen 

Rejoice in fostering showers ; 
While ilka thing in nature join 

Their sorrows to forego, 
O why thus all alone are mine 

The weary steps of wo I 



The trout within yon wimpling bum i ! 

Glides swift, a silver dart, j ' 

And safe beneath the shady thorn 

Defies the angler's art r ; 

My life was ance that careless stream, 

That wanton trout was I ; 
But k)ve, wi' unrelenting beam, i 

Has scorch'd my fountains dry. ! 

The little flow'rct's peaceful lot, j 

In yonder cliff that grows, j 

Which, save the linnet's flight, I wot, | 

Nae nider visit knows, 
Was mine ; till love has o'er mc past. 

And blighted a' my bloom. 
And now beneath the withering blast 

My youth and joy consume. \ 

The waken'd lav'rock warbiing sprinfl, 

And climbs the early sky, 
Winnowing blithe her dewy wings 

In morning's rosy eye ; 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. IBS 

Afl little reckt I Borrow's power, 

Until ilie flowery snare 
O' witching love, in luckless hour, 

Made me the. thrall o' care. 

O had my fate been Greenland snows, 

Or Afric's burning zone, 
Wi' Men and Nature Icagu'd my foes, 

So Peggy ne'er I'd known ! 
The wretch whase doom is, " hope nae inaiTt** 

What tongue his woes can tell ; 
Witliin whase bosom, save despair, 

Nae kinder spirits dwell. 



J\URY MORISOJ^. 
Tune—'''^ Bide ye yet." 

MARY, at thy window be, 

It is tlie wish'd, the trysted hour ! 
Those smiles and glances let me see. 

That make liie miser's treasure poor ; 
How blithely w;id 1 bide the stoure, 

A weary slave frae sun to sun ; 
Could I the rich reward secure, 

The lovely Mary Morison. 

Yestreen when to the trembling string. 
The dance gaod thro' the lighted ha', 

To thee my fancy took its wing, 
I sat, but nc'itli^r heard nor saw : 

Tho' this was fair and that was braw, 
And you the toast of a' the town, 

1 sigh'd, and said amang them a', 

" Ye arc na Mary Morrison." 

O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace, 

Wha for tliy sake would gladly die t 
Or canst thou break that heart of his, 

Whase only fault id loving thee ? 
If love for love thou wilt na gie. 

At least be pity to me shown ! 
A thought ui)gentle canna be 

The Uiougbt o' Mary Morrison. 



134 POEMS, 

FAIR JENNY. 
Tune—^' Saw ye my father 1" j j 

Where are the joys that I've met in tlic morning 1 j i 

That danc'd to the lark's early song t i j 

Where is the peace that awaited my wand'ting, j i 

At evening, the wild woods among 1 j | 

No more a winding the course of yon river, j | 

And marking sweet flow' rets so fair ; j ! 

No more I trace the light footsteps of pleasure, j i 

But sorrow and sad sighing care. j • 

Is it that summer's forsaken our valleys, j \ 

And grim surly winter is near ? j | 

No, no, the l)ees humming round the gay roses, | 

Proclaim it the pride of the year. | 

Fain would I hide wliat I fear to discover, ! 

Yet long, long too well have I known : j 

All that has caused this vjrreck in my bosom, 

Is- Jenny, fair Jenny alone. 

Time cannot aid me, my griefs are immortal. 

Nor hope dare a comfort bestow: 
Come then, enamour' d and fond of my anguisllf 

Enjoyment I'll seek in my wo. 

ij 

ADDRESS TO THE WOOD-LARK. \\ 

TYttte— " Where'll bonie Ann lie." Or, " Loch Eroclndda.** i j 

O STAY, sweet warbling wood-lark, stay, 1 1 

Nor quit for me the trembling spray ; j ' 

A hapless lover courts thy lay, • i 

Thy soothing, fond complaining 1 1 

Again, again that tender part, 1 1 

That I may catch thy melting art ; ; i 

For surely that wad touch her heart, 1 1 

Wha kills me with disdaining. ■ | 

Say. was thy little mate unkind, i I 

Ana heard thee as the careless wind 1 j 

Oh, nocht but love and sorrow join'd, I ' 

Sic notes o' wo could wauken. I 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 

! Thou telig of never-ending care ; 

!| O' Bpeechle?8 grief and dark despair ; 

, For pity's sake, sweet bird, nae mair ! 

I , Or my poor heart is broken ! 



FRAOMEJ^T, 
\n witherspoOxN's collection of scot's sonoi 

Air—'* Hughie Graham." 

O WERE my love yon lilac fair, 
Wi' purple blossoms to the spring; 

And I a bird to shelter there, 
When wearied on my little wing ; 

How I wad mourn when it was torn, 
By autnnm wild, and winter rude ! 

But I wad sing on wanton wing, 
When youthful May its bloom renew'd.* 

" O gin my love were yon red rose, 
That grows upon the castle wa', 

And I mysel a drap o' dew. 
Into her bonie breast to fa' ! 

«' O, there beyond expression blest, 
I'd feast on beauty a' the night ; 

Scal'd on her siik-saft faulds to rest. 
Till fley'd awa by Phoebus' light" 



.annRESS to a lady. 

Oh, wert thou in the cauld blast, 

On yonder lea, on yonder lea, 
My plaidie to the angry airt, 

I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee : 
Or did misfortune's bitter storms 

Around thee blaw, around thee blaw, 
Thy bield should be my bosom, 

To share it a', to share it a'. 

• These stanzas were prefixed by Bums. 



136 POEMS, 

Or were I in the wildest waste, 

Sae black and bare, sae black and bare, 
The desert were a paradise, 

If thou wert there, if thou wen there : 
Or were I monarch o' the globe, 

Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign, 
The brightest jewel in my crown. 

Wad be my queen, wad be ray queen. 



THE AULD JJMJV. 

But lately seen in gladsome green 

The woods rejoice the day, 
Thro' gentle showers the laughing flowers, 

In double pride were gay. 
But now our joys are fled 

On winter blasts awa! 
Yet maiden May, in rich array 

Again shall bring them a'. 

But ray white pow, nae kindly thowe 

Shall melt the snaws of age ; 
My trunk of eild, but buss or bield, 

Sinks in Time's wint'ry rage. 
Oil, age has weary days, ' 

And nights o ' sleepless pain ! 
Thou golden time o' youthful prime, 

Why com'st thou not again 1 



JOHJ\r JlJN'DERSOJ^, MT JO, 

John Andkrson, my jo, John, 

When we were first acquent, | 

Your locks were like the raven, '. | 

Your bonie Ivow was brent ; i 

But now your brow is held, John, \ \ 

Your locks are like ilie snow : ' | 

But blessings on your frosty pow, \ | 

John Anderson my jo. : 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 137 

John Anderson my jo, John, 

We clamb the hill thegither ; 
And monie a canty day, John, 

We've had wi' ane anilher ; 
Now we maun totter down, John, 

But hand in hand we'll go, 
And sleep thegither at the foot, 

John Anderson my jo. 



jiULD LJIJ^G SYJfE. 

Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 
And never brought to min' 1 

Should auld acquaintance be forgot. 
And days o' lang syne ? 



For auld lang syne, my dear, 

For auld lang syne, 
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, 

For auld lang syne. 

We twa hae run about the braes, 

And pu't the gowans fine ; 
But we've wander'd monie a weary foot, 

Sin' auld lang syne. 

For auld, &c. 

We twa hae paidl't i' the burn, 

Frae mornin sun till dine ; 
But seas between us braid hae roar'd, 

Sin' auld lang syne. 

Fbr auld, &c. 

And here's a hand, my trusty fiere, 

And gie's a hand o' thine ; 
And we'll tak a right guid willie-wauglit, 

For auld lang syne. 

For auld, &c. 

And Burely ye' 11 be your pint-stowp. 

And surely I'll be mine ; 
And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, 

For auld lang syne. 

For auld, &c. 



Vol. n. 



IC8 POEMS, 

HOPELESS LOVE. 
T^Tie—u Liggeram Cosh.** 

Blithk hae I been on yon hill, 

As the lambs before me ; 
Careless ilka thought and free, 

As the breeze flew o'er me : 

Now nae longer sport and play, 

Mirth or sang can please me ; 
Lesley is sae fair and coy, 1 1 

Care and anguish seize me. \ \ 

Heavy, heavy, is the task, : j 

Hopeless love declaring : I j 

Trembling, I dow nocht but glow'r, I 

Sighing, dumb, despairing ! i I 

If she winna ease the thraws, • j 

In my bosom swelling ; ! ; 

Underneath the grass-green sod i j 
Soon maun be ray dwelling. 



BjiJ\rKS OF J^ITH. 
Tune—^* Robie Donna Goradi." 

Thb Thames flows proudly to the sea, 
Where royal cities stately stand ; 

But sweeter flows the Nith to me. 
Where Commons ance had high coi 

When shall I see that honour'd land, 
That winding stream I love so dear ! 

Must wayward Fortune's adverse hand 
For ever, ever keep me here ? 

How lovely, Nith, thy fruitful vales, 
Where spreading hawthorns gaily bloom I 

How sweetly wind thy sloping dales. 
Where lambkins wanton thro' the bnxtm I 

Tho' wandering, now, must be my doom, 
Far from thy bonie banks and braes, 

May there ray latest hours consume, 
Amang the friends of early days! 



j CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. IH 


T 


BANKS OF CREE. 




1 Herk is Ihe elen, and here the bowec, 
All underneath the birchen shade ; 
The village bell has told the hour, 
O what can stay my lovely maid ? 


i 

1 
i 


! 'Tia not Maria's whispering call ; 

'Tis but the balmy-breathing gale, 
Mixt Willi some warbler's dying fall, 
The dewy star of eve to hail. 


« 1 
1 


It is Maria's voice 1 hear ! 

So calls the woodlark in the grove, 
Hia little faithful mate to cheer, 

At once 'tis music— and 'tis love. 


1 

1 


And art thou come ! and art thou true ! 
welcome dear to love and me .' 
j And let us all our vows renew, 
1 Along the flowery banks of Cree 

1 


1 

! 

1, 

li 


1 aiSTLE GORDOJ^. 

1 


i 


j Streams that glide in orient plains, 

Never bound by winter's chains ; 
1 Glowing here on golden sands, 
i There commix'd with foulest stains 
! From tyranny's empurpled bands ; 
j These, their richly-gleaming waves, 
1 leave to tyrants and their slaves ; 
Give me the stream that sweetly laves 
The banks by Castle Gordon. 


i; 

li 
il 


I Spicy forests, ever gay, 

1 Shading from the burning ray ■ 

Hapless wretches sold to toil, 
1 Or the ruthless native's way, 
! Bent on slaughter, blood, and spoil ; 

Woods that ever verdant wave, 

I leave the tjTant and the slave ; 

Give me the groves that lofty brave 
The storms by Castle Gordon. 


i 

1 

1 

i 
j 

i 


Wildly here without control, 
Nature reigns and rules the wboie ,- 


li 

i 



140 POEMS, 

In that sober pensive mood. 
Dearest to the feeling soul, 
She plants the forest, pours the flood ; 
Life's poor day I'll musing rave, 
And find at night a sheltering cave, 
Where waters flovv^ and wild woods wave, 
By bonie Castle Gordon. 



AFTOJiT WATER. 
Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes ; 
Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise ; 
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuiing stream, 
Fiow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. 
Thou stock-dove whose echo resounds thro' the glen» 
Ye wild- whistling black birds in yon thorny den, 
Thou green-crested lapwing, thy screaming forbear 
I charge you, disturb not my slumbering fan-. 
How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills, 
Far mark'd with the courses of clear, winding riUa ; 
There daily I wamier as noon rises high, 
My flocks and my IMary's sweet cot in my eye. 

How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below, \ 

Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow ; ! 

Tliere oft as mild ev'uing weeps over the lea, j 

The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me. j 

Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides, 
And winds by the cot where my Mary resides : 
How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave, 
As gath'ring sweet flow'ret's she stems thy clear wave. 
Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, 
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays ; 
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, 
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. 



THE SACRED VOW. 
Tune—'''' Allan Water." 
By Allan stream I chanc'd to rove, 

While Phoebus sank below Benleddi ;* 
The winds were whisp'ring through the grove, 
The yell3w corn was waving ready: 



A mountain west of Strath-Allan, 3,000 y%e« Jdgh. 



CHIEFL Y SCO TTISH. Ml 

I listenM to a lover's sang, 

And thought on youthfu' pleasures monie : 
And ay the wild-wood echoes rang— 

O, dearly do I love lliee, Annie ! 

O bappy be the woodbine bovver, 

Nae nightly bogie make it eerie ; 
Nor ever sorrow tJtain the hour, 

The place and time I met my dearie \ 

Her head upon mv throbbing breast, 
She, sinking, said, " I'm thine for ever I ' 

While monie a kiss the sea! imprest, 
The sacred vow we ne'er should sever. 

The haunt o' spring's the primrose brae. 
The summer joys the flocks to follow ; 

How cheery through her shortening day. 
Is autunm in her weeds o' yellow ; 

But can they melt the glowing heart, 
Or chain tlie sou! in speechless pleasure, 

Or thro' each nerve the rapture dart, 
Like meeting her, our bosom's treasure 1 



THE RIGS O' BARLEY. 
Thine—" Corn rigs are bonie." 

It was upon a Lammas night, 

VVhen corn rigs are bonie. 
Beneath the moon's unclouded light, 

I held awa to Annie : 
The time flew by wi' tentless heed, 

Till 'tween the late and early ; 
Wi' sma' persuasion she agreed, 

To see me through the barley. 

The sky was blue, the wind was still, 

The moon was shining clearly ; 1 1 

I sat her down wi' right good will^ | 

Amans the rigs o' barley : \ \ 

I kent her heart was a' my ain ; ! j 

I lov'ii her most sincerely ; j I 

1 kiss'd her owre and owre again, ; j 

Amang the rigs o' barley. j ! 



1 

1 

14? POEMS, 
1 I lock'd her in my fond embrace ; 


! Hor heart was beating rarely ; 


1 My blesslnpg on that happy place, 


Amanjr the ripa 0' barley! 


But by the moon and stars so bright, 


That shone that hour so clearly! 


She ay shall bless that happy night. 


Amang the rigs o' barley. 


I hae been blithe wi' comrades dear ; 


I hae been merry drinkin ; 


I ha.; been joyfu' gath'rin gear ; 


! 1 I hae been liappy thinkin ; 


j 1 Rut a' the pleasures e'er I saw, 


1 Tho' three times doubled fairly, 


That happy night was worth them a'. 


1 Amang the rigs o' barley. 


CHORUS. 


Com rf>s, an' barley rigs, 


Corn ri<T8 are bonie; 


ril ne'er forget thai happy night, 


Amang the rigs wV Annie. 


THE LEA.RIO. 


When o'er the hill the eastern star, 


Tells bughtin-time is near, my jo; 


And owsen frae the furrowed field, 


Return sae dovvf and weary O ; 


Down by the burn, where scented birks 


Wi' dew arc hanging clear, my jo, 


I'll meet thee on tho lea-rig, 


My ain kind dearie O. 


In mirkest glen, at midnight hour. 


I'd rove, and ne'or he (;(;rie O, 


If thro' that glen I gned to thee, 


My ain kind dearie O. 


Altho' the night were ne'er sae wild 


And I were ne'er sae wearie O, 


I'll meet thee on the lea-rig, 


My ain kind dearie O. 

1 
1 



CUIEFL Y SCO TTISU. 143 

The hunter lo'es the morning sun, 

To rouBC the mountain-deer, my jo ; 
At noon the fisher Beekg the glen, 

Along the burn to steer, my jo ; 
Give me the hour o' gloaniin gray. 

It maks my heart sae cheerie O, 
To meet thee on the lea-rig. 

My aln kind dearie O. 



THE LASS OF BALLOCHMYLE. 

'TwA.s even — the dewy fields were green, 

On every blade the pearls hang ; 
The zephyr wanton'd round the bean, 

And bore its fragrant sweets alang ; 
In every glen tlie mavis sa;ig, 

All nature list'ning secni'd the while. 
Except where greenwood echoes rang, 

Amang the braes o' Ballochmyle. 

With careless step I onward stray'd, 

My heart rejoic'd in nature's joy, 
When musing in a lonely glade, 

A maiden fair I chanc'd to spy ; 
Her look was like the morning's eye, 

Her air like nature's vernal smile, 
Perfection whispcr'd, passing by, 

Behold the lass o' Balloclunyle ! 

Fair is tlie morning in flowery May, 

And sweet is night in Autumn mild 
When roving thro' the garden gay. 

Or wandering in the lonely wild : 
But woman, nature's darling child I 

There all her charms she does compile , 
Ev'n there her otlier works are foil'd 

By the bonie lass o' Ballochmyle. 

O, had she been a country maid, 

And I the happy country swain, 
Tbo' ghelter'd in the lowest shed 

That ever rose in Scotland's plam ! 
Thro' weary winter's wind and rair 

With joy, with rapture, I would to^ii : 
And nightly to my bosom strain 

The bonlo lass o' Ballochmyle. 



114 POEMSt \ 

Then pride might climb the Blipp'ry steep, 

Where fame and honours lofty shine : 
And thirst of gold might tempt the deep, 

Or downward seek the Indian mine i 
Give me tlie cot below the pine, I 

To tend the flocks, or till the soil, j i 

And every day have joys divine, I 

Wi' the bonie lass o'" Ballochmyle. I j 

11 _ ll 

!! ii 

{1 BOKIE LESLEY. j 

I ! O SAW ye bonie Lesley 

As she gaed o'er the border ? 
She's gane, like Alexander, 
To spread her conquests farther. 

To see her is to love her, 

And love but her for ever : 
For Nature made her wliat she is, 

And ne'er made sic anither! 



I Thou art a queen, fair Lesley, 
I Thy subjects we, before thee ; 

! Thou art divine, fair Lesley, 
I The hearts o' men adore thee. 

1 The Deil he could na scaith thee, 
j Or aught that wad bslang thee : 

j He'd look into thy bonie face, 
I And say, " I canna wrang thee." 

! The Powers aboon will tent thee ; 

Misfortime sha' na steer thee ; 
Thou'rt like themselves, sae lovely. 
That ill they'll ne'er let near thee. 

Retui-n again, fair Lesley, 
Return to Caledonie ! 

That we may brag we hae a law 
There's nane again 8ao bonie 



CHIEFL Y SCO TTISH. 14S 

BONIE JEAN. 

TuBRE was a lass, and she was ik r 

At kirk and market to be seen, 
When a' Uie fairest maids were met, 

The fairest maid was bonie Jean. 

And ay she wrought her mammie's wark, 

And ay she sang sae merrilie ; 
The blithest bird upon tlie bush 

Had ne'er a lighter heart than she. 

But hawks will rob the tender joys 

That bless the little lin»whJte's nest ; 
And frost will blight the fairest flowers, 

And love will break tlie sounuest rest. 

Young Robie was the brawest lad, 

The flcwer and pride of a' the glen ; 
And be had owsen, sheep, and kye, 

And wanton naigies nine or ten. 

He gaed wi' Jeanie to the tryste, 

Ho danc'd wi' Jeanie on the down ; 
And lang ere witless Jeanie wist. 

Her heart was lint, her peace was stown. 

As in the bosom o' the stream, 
The moon-beam dwells at dewy e'en ; 

So trembling, pure, was tender love. 
Within the breapt o' bonie Jean. 

And now she works Iier mammie's wark, 

And ay she sighs wi' care and pain ; 
Yet wist na what her ail might be. 

Or what wad mak her weel again. 

But did na Jeanie's Iieart loup light, 

And did na joy blink in her e'e, 
As Robie tauld a tale o' love, 

An e'enin on the lily lea ? 

The sun was sinking in the west, 

The birds sang sweet in ilka grove : 
His cheek to her's he fondly prest, 

And whisper'd thus his tale o' love. 

O Jeanie fair, I lo'e thee dear ; 

O eangt thou think to fancy mel 
Oi wilt thou leave thy mammie's eot, 

And ieam to tent the farms wl' me 1 



1 

j 

j 146 POEMS, 




I 


At barn or byre thou shall na drudge, 






Or naething else to trouble thee ; 






But stray amang the heather-bells, 






Atd tent the waving corn wi' me. 






Now what could artless .Teanie do 1 






She had na will to say him na : 






At length she blush'd a sweet consent. 




1 

j 

1 


And love was ay between them twa. 


1 


! 


TO JE^J\riE. 


1 


1 


/^ jlir—<^ Cauld Kail." 






CoMK, let me lake thee to my breast. 




1 


Ana pledge we ne'er sliall sunder ; 




i 


And I shall spurn, as vilest dust. 




1 


The warld's wealth and grandeur ! 




! 


And do I hear my Jeanie own, 






That etpial transports move her 1 




I 


I ask for dearest life alone 






That may I live to love her. 






Thus in my arms, wi' all thy chartDB, 




1 


I clasp my countless treasure ; 






I'll seek nae mair o' heaven to share, 




H 


That sic a moment's pleasure : 




And by thy e'en, sae bouie blue, 




I 


I swear I'm thine for ever : 




j 


And on thy lips 1 seal ray vow. 






And break it shall I never. 


i 


i 

! 


DAIKTY DAVIE. 


1 


1 


Now rosy May comes hi wi' floweii, 




1 


To deck her gav, green-sprcadlnp! bowon; 




1 


And now comes in my happy hours, 




i 
1 

i 
i 
1 
i 
i 
1 


To wander wi' my Davie. 





CHIEFL Y SCOT TISH. 1 47 



Meet me on the warlock hnotoe, 
Dainty Duvu., Jninty Davie- 

There I'll spend the day -.cP you, 
J\Ty ain dear dainty Davie. 

The crystal waters round us fa', 
The merry birds are lovers a', 
The Bcentf d breezes round us hlaw", 
A-wanderins vvi' my Davie. 
IMcet me, &c. 

When purple morning starts the hare, 
To steal upon her early fare. 
Then thro' the dews I will repair, 
"To meet my faithfu' Davie. 
Meet me, &c. 

When day, expiring in the west, 
The curtain draws o' Nature's rest, 
I flee to his arms I lo'e best, 

And that's my ain dear Davie. 

CHORUS. 

Jlfcet mo on the warlock knowe, 
Bonie Davir, dainty Davie, 

There Fll spend the day wV you. 
My ain dear dainty Davie. 



LOVELY J^.aXCY. 
7^ne__n The Quaker's wife." 

Thine am I, my faithful fair, 
Thine, my lovely Nancy ; 

Ev'ry pulse along my veins, 
Ev'ry roving fancy. 

To thy bosom lay my heart, 
There to throb and languish; 

Tho' despair had wrung its core, 
That would heal its anguish. 

Take away those rosy lips, 
Rich wiih balmy treasure ; 

Turn away thine eyes of lov« 
Lest I die with pleamir«. 



148 POEMS, 



What is life when wanting love 1 
Night without a moruing : 

Love's the cloudless suramer sky 
Nature gay adorning. 



CL UD EJf KJTO WES. 
7V«e— " Ca' the Yowes to the knowes." 

CHORUS. 

Co" the yowes to the knowes^ 
Ca^ them whare the heather grows^ 
Co' them whare the burnie rows, 
My bonie dearie. 

Hark, the mavis' evening sang 
Sounding Clouden's woods amang ; 
Then a-faulding let us gang} 
My bonie dearie. 

Ca' the, &c. 

We'll gae down by Clouden eide, 

Thro' the hazels spreading wide, 

O'er the waves that sweetly glide 

To the moon sae clearly, 

Ca' the, &c. 

Yonder Clouden's silent tow'rs, 
Where at moonshine midnight houn, 
O'er the dewy bending flowers, 
Fairies dance sae cheery. 
Ca' the, &c. 

Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear ; 
Thou'rt to love and Leaven sae dear, 
Nocht of ill may come thee near, 
My bonie dearie. 

C%' the, &c. 



Fair and lovely as thou art, 
! 1 Thou hast stown my very heart ; 

I j I can die — but canna part, 

I I My bonie dearie. 

! j Ca' the, &,c. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH, 149 

TO CHLORIS. 
TVne— " My lodging is on the cold grouna. 

My Chloris, mark how green the groves, 

The primrose banks how fair : 
The balmy gales awake the flowers, 

And wave thy flaxen hair. 
The lav' rock shuns the palace gay, 

And o'er the cottage sings : 
For nature smiles as sweet, I ween, 

To shepherds as to kings. 
Let minstrels sweep the skiifu' string 

In lordly lighted ha' : 
The shepherd stops his simple reed, 

Blithe, in the birken suaw. 
The princely revel may survey 

Our rustic dance wi' scorn ; 
But are their hearts as light as ours, 

Beneath the milk-white thorn 1 
The shepherd in the flowery glen, 

In shepherd's phrase will woo : 
The courtier tells a finer tale. 

But is his heart as true 1 
These wild-wood flowers, I've pu'd, io deck 

That spotless breast o' thine ; 
The courtier's gems may witness love — 

But 'tis na love like mine. 



CHLORIS. 

O BONiE was yon rosy brier, 

That blooms sae far frae haunt o' Esan 
And bonie she, and ah, how dear ! 

It shaded frae the e'enin sun. 

Yon rose buds in the morning dew, 
How pure araang the leaves sae green ; 

But purer was the lover's vow 
They witness'd in their shade yestreen. 

All in its rude and prickly bower, 
That crimson rose how sweet and fair! 

But love is far a sweeter flower 
Amid hfe's thorny path o' cai.'. 



150 POEMS, 

The pathless wild, and wimpling burn, 
VVi' Cliloris ia my arms, be mine ; 

And I ilie world, nor wish, nor scorn, 
Its joys and griofs alike resign. 



I 
LJISSIE fVr THE LIJ^TWHITE LOCKS 

Tune—'''' Rothemurche's Rant" 



Lassie wV the lint white locks, 
Bonie lassie, artless lassie, 

IVilt thou wi' VIC tent the flocks, 
Wilt thou be my deane O ? 

Now nature deeds the flowery lea, 
And a' is young and sweet like thee ; 
O wilt thou share its joys wi' me, 
And say thou'lt be my dearie O ? 
Lassie, &c. 

And when the welcome simmer-shower 
Has cheer'd ilk drooping little flower, 
We'll to the breathing woodbine bower 
At sultry noon, my dearie O. 
Lassie, &c. 

When Cynthia lights, wi' silver ray, 
The weary sheare/'s hameward way ; 
Thro' yellow waving fields we'll stray, 
And talk o' love, my dearie O. 
Lassie, &c. 

And when the howling wint'ry blast 
Disturbs my lassie's midnight rest, 
Enclasped to my faitlifu' breast, 
I'll comfort thee, my dearie O. 
Lassie, &c. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH ISJ 

THIS IS NO MY AIN LASSIE. 
TVnc— *' This is no my ain house " 

CHORUS. 

O this is no my ain lassie. 

Fair tko* the lassie be; 
O weel ken I my ain lassie. 

Kind love is in her e'e. 

I see a form, I see a face, 
Ye weel may vvi' the fairest place ; 
It wants, to me, the witching grace, 
The kind love that's in her e'e. 
O this, &c. 

She's bonle, blooming, straight, and tall, 
And lang has had my heart in tlirall ; 
And ay it charms my very saul, 
The kind love that's in her e'e. 
O this, &c. 

A thief sae pawkie is my Jean, 
To steal a blink by a' unseen ; 
But gleg as light are lovers' een, 
When kind love is in the e'e, 
O this, &c. 

It may escape the courtly sparks, 
It may escape the learned clerks ; 
But weel the watching lover marks 
The kmd love that's in her e'e. 
O this, &c. 



JESSY. 
< Here's a health to them that's awa, hiney. 

CHORUS. 

Herift a health to one Ilo'c dear, 

Htrtfa a health to ane I lo^e dear; 

T%ou art sweet as the smile when fond lovert rMtt^ 

jSndtoft as their parting tear— Jessy I 



158 POEMS, 

Altho' thou maun never be mine, 

Altho' even hope is denied ; 
Tis sweeter for thee despairing, 
Than auglit in the world beside— Jessy ! 
Here's, &c. 

I moi-m thro' the gay, gaudy day, 
As hopeless I muse on thy charms ; 

But welcome the dream o' sweet slumbor. 
For then I am loclc'd in thy arms— Jessy ! 
Here's, &c. 

I guess by tlie dear angel smile, 
I guess by the love-rolling e'e ; 

But why urge the tender confession 
'Gainst fortune's tell cruel decree— Jessy ! 
Here's, &c. 



THE BIRKS OF ABERFELDY, 

CHORUS. 

Bonie lassie, will ye go, will ye go, will yi go, 
Bonie lassie, will ye go to the birks of Aberfeldy t 

Now simmer blinlts on flowery braea, 
And o'er the crystal streamlet plays. 
Come, let us spend the lightsome day9 
In the birks of Aberfeldy. 

Bonie lassij, &c. 

While o'er their heads the hazels hing. 

The little birdies blithely sing. 

Or lishtlv flit on wanton wing 

In the birks of Aberfeldy. | 

Bonie lassie, &c. i 

The braes ascend like lofty wa's, 
The foaming stream deep-roaring fa's, 
O'er-hung wi' fragrant spreading shaws, 
The birks of Aberfeldy. 

Bonie lassie, &c. 

The hoary cliff's are crown'd wi' flowers, 
White o'er the linns the bumie pours, 
And, rising, weets wi' misty showers 
The birks of Aberfeldy. 

Bonie lassie, &c. 



CHIEFL rSCO TTISH. 1 53 

Let Fortune's gifts at random flee, 
They ne'er sLall draw a wish frao me, 
Supremely blest wi' love and thee. 
In the birks of Aberfeldy. 

Bonie lassie, &c. 



THE ROSE-BUD 

A ROSE-BUD by my early walk, 
Adown a corn-enclosed hawk, 
Sae gently bent its thorny stalk, 
All on a dewy morning. 

Ere twice the shades o' dawn are fled. 
In a' its crimson glory spread, 
And drooping rich the dewy head. 
It scents the early morning. 

Within the bush, her covert nest, 
A little linnet fondly prest, 
The dew sat chilly on her breast 
Sae early in the morning. 

She soon shall see her tender brood, 
The pride, tlie pleasure o' the wood, 
Amang the fresh green leaves bedew'd. 
Awake the early morning. 

So thou, dear bird, young Jenny fair, 
On trembling string or vocal air, 
Shall sweetly pay the tender care 
That tents thy early morning. 

So thou, sweet rose-bud, young and gay, 
Shall beauteous blaze upon the day. 
And bless the parent's evening ray 
That watch'd thy early morning. 



PEGGY'S CHARMS. 
T^ne— " N. Gow's Lamentation for Abercairny.' 
Whkrk braving angry winter's storms, 

The lofty Ochels rise, 
Par in their shade my Peggy's charms, 
First blest my wondering eyes. 
Vol. II. L 



IM POEMS, 

As one who by some savage etream, 

A lonely gem surveys, 
Astonish'd, doubly marks its beam, 

With art's most polish'd blaze. 

Blest be the wild sequester'd shade, 

And blest the day and hour, 
Where Peggy's charms I *7-^t survey'd, 

When first T felt their po,v . ! 
The tyrant Death with griiu control 

May seize my fleeting breatli ; 
But tearing Peggy from my soul 

Must be a stronger death. 



THE BLISSFUL DAY. 
Tune— " Seventh of November." 

The day returns, my bosom bums, 

The blissful day we twa did meet, 
Tho' winter wild in tempest toil'd, 

Ne'er summer sun was half sae sweet 
Than a' the pride that loads the tide. 

And crosses o'er the sultry line ; 
Than kingly robes, than crowns and globes, 

Heaven gave me more, it made thee mine. 

While day and night can bring delight, 

Or nature aught of pleasure give ; 
WhiJe joys above, my mind can move, 

For thee, and thee alone, I live ! 
When that grim foe of life below 

Comes in between to make us part ; 
The iron hand that breaks our band, 

It breaks my bliss— it breaks my beait. 



COJVSTVf.YCr. 

TVnc— " My love is lost to 1 

O, WERE I on Parnassus* hill ! 
Or had of Helicon my fill ; 
That I mighi catch poetic skill, 
To ring how dear I love thee. 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 156 

But Nith maun be my Muae's well, 
My Muse maun be thy bonie sel : 
On Coreincon I'll glowr and spell, 
And write how dear I love thee. 

Then come, sweet Musn, inspire my lay ! 
For a' the lee-lang simmer's day, 
I couldna sing, I couldna say, 

How much, how dear 1 love thee. 

I see thee dancing o'er the green, 
Thy waist sae jimp, thy limbs sae clean, 
Thy templing lips, thy roguish e'en— 
By heaven and earth, I love thee ! 

By night, by day, a-fieW, at hame. 
The thoughts o' thee my breast inflame ; 
And ay I muse and sing thy name, 
I only live to love thee. 

Though 1 were doom'd to wander on. 
Beyond the sea, beyond the sun, 
Till my last weary sand was run ; 
Till then— and then I love thee. 



LOVELY JE^JSr. 
Tune — " Miss Admiral Gordon's Strathspey 

Op a' the airts the wind can blaw, 

1 dearly like the west, 
For there the bonie lassie lives, 

The lassie I lo'e best : 
There wild woods grow, and rivers row, 

And monie a hill between ; 
But day and night, my fancy's flight 

Is ever wi' my Jean. 

I see her in the dewy flowers, 

I see her sweet and fair : 
I hear her in the tunefu' birds, 

I hear her charm the air : 
There's not a bonie flower that springi 

By fountain, shaw, or green ; 
There's not a bonie bird that siufftf 

But minds me o' my Jean. 



158 POEMS, 

THE BLUE-EYED LASSIE. 

I OAED a waefu' gate yestreen, 

A gate, I fear, I'll dearly rue : 
I gat my death frae twa sweet een, 

Twa lovely een o' bonie blue. 
'Twas not her golden ringlets bright ; 

Her lips like roses wat wi' dew, 
Her heaving bosom, lily white ; 

It was her een sae bonie blue. 

She talk'd, she smiPd, my heart she wyl'd, 

She charm'd my soul, I wist na how; 
And ay the stound, tlie deadly wound, 

Cam frae her een sae bonie blue. 
But spare to speak, and spare to speed ; 

She'll aiblins listen to my vow : 
Should she refuse, I'll lay my dead 

To her twa een sa«.' bonie blue. 



I rVILT THOU BE MY DEARIE? 

\ Wilt thou be my dearie 1 

i I When sorrow wrings thy gentle heatt| 

I I O wilt thou let me cheer thee 1 
I { By the treasure of my soul, 

i And that's the love I bearthee! 
i I swear and vow that only thou 

I Shall ever be my dearie. 
! Only thou, 1 swear and vow, 

I Shall ever be my dearie. 

Lassie, say thou lo'es me ; 

Or, if thou wilt na be my din, 
Say na thou' It refuse me : 

If it winna, canna be, 
Thou for thine may choose me ; 

Let me, lassie, quickly die. 
Trusting tliat thou lo'ea me. 

Lassie, let me quickly die, 
TtuBting that thou lo'es me. 



CHIEFL Y SCO TTISH. 157 

LUCY. 

O, WAT ye wha's in yon town, 

Ye see the e'enin sun upon ? 
The fairest daine is in yon town 

The e'enin sun is sliining on. 

Now haply down yon gay green shaw, 

bfie wanders by yon spreading tree. 
How blest ye flowers that round her blaw. 

Ye catch the glances o' lier e'e. 

How blest ye birds that round her shie. 

And welcome in the blooming year? 
And doubly welcome be the spring, 

The season to my Lucy dear. 



The sun blinks blithe on yon town i 

And on yon bonio braes of Ayr • ' I 

But my delight in yon town, 
i And dearest bliss, is Lucy fair 



AV'S"^ 'ny 'ove, not a' the charms 
O Paradise could yield me ioy : 
But gie me Lucy in my arms,' 

And welcome Lapland's dreary sliy. 
My cave wad be a lover's bower, 
Tho' raging winter rent the air : 
And she a lovely little flower, 
That I wad tent and shelter tliere. 

sweet is she in yon town, 

Yon sinking sun's gaon down upon ; 
A fairer than's in yon town. 

His setting beams ne'er shone upon. 
If angry fate is sworn my foe, 

And suflering I am doom'd to bear 

1 careless quit all else below, 

But spare me, spare me, Lucy dear. 

For while life's dearest blood is warm, 
Ae thought frae her shall ne'er depart, 

And fJie— as fairest is her form. 
She has the truest, kindest heart. 



158 POEMS, 

BLITHE PHEMIE. 



Blithe, blithe and merry was she, 
Blithe by the banks of Em, 

Jind blithe teas she but an' ben : 
And blithe in Glcniurit glen. 

By Ouiihtertyre grows the aik, 

Ca Yarrow hanks the birken shaw ; 
But Pheniie was a bonier lass 

Than braes o' Yarrow ever saw. 
Blithe, &c. 
Her looks were Hke a flower in May, 

Her smile was like a simmer morn ; 
She tripped by the banks of Em, 

As light's a bird upon a thorn. 
Blithe, &c. 
Her bonie face it was as meek 

As onie lamb upon a lea ; 
The evenii'.g sun was ne'er sae, sweet 

As was the blink o' Phemie's e'e. 
Blithe, &c. 
The Highland hills I've wander'd wide, 

And o'er the lowlands I hae been ; 
But Phemie was the blithest lasa 

Tliat ever trod the dewy green. 
Blithe, &c. 



; charmi:n'0 j\rAj\r^riE. 

I BsHiND yon hills where Lugar flows, 
I 'Mang moors and mosses many, O, 

{ The wint'ry sun the day has clos'd, 
! And I'll awa to Nannie, O. 

I The westlin wind blaws loud an' shill; 
j The night's baith murk and rainy, O ; 

i But I'll get my plaid, an' out I'll steal, 

An' owre the hills to Nannie, O. 

j Mv Nannie's charming, sweet, an' young ; 
I Nae artfa' wiles to win ye, O : 

! May ill befa' the flattering tongue 
1 That wad beguile my Nannie, O. 



"^ 



j 

CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 159 j 

Her face is fair, her heart is true, ■ 

As spotless as she's bonie, O : : 

The op'ning eowan, wet wi' dew, ! 

Nae purer is than Nannie, O. ! 

A country lad is my degree, j ! 

An' few there be that ken me, O : i ! 

But what care I how few they be, . I ! 

I'm welcome ay to Nannie, O. ! j 

My riches a' 's my penny-fee, ! j 

An' I maun guide it cannie, O ; i 

But warl's gear ne'er trouble me, li 

My thoughts are a' my Nannie, O. j ! 

Our auld guidman delights to view j ' 

His sheep an' kye thrive bonie, O ; 
But I'm as blithe that hands his pleugb, 

An' has nae care but Nannie, O. 

Come weal, come wo, I care na by, 

I'll tak what Heaven will sen' me, O ; 
Nae ither care in life have I, 

But live an' love my Nannie, O. 



GREEN GROW THE RUSHES. 
A Fragment. 



Green grow the rashes, O I 
Oreen groio the rashes, ! 

The sweetest hours that e'er 1 spent 
Are spent amang the lasses^ O I 

There's nought but care on ev'ry ban 
In ev'ry hour that passes, O ; 

What signifies the life o' man, 
An' 'twere na for the lasses, O ? 
Green grow, &c. 

The warly race may riches chase, 
An' riches still may fly them, O ; 

An' tho' at last they catch them fast 
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O. 
Green grow, tec 



160 POEMS, 

But g\e mo a caniiie hoar at e'en, 
My arms about my dearie, O : 

An' "warly cares, an'' warly men 
May a' gae tapsalteerie, O. 

Green grow, &c 

For you sae dou?R, ye sneer at this, 

Ye're no'i^Iit but senseless asses, O] 
The wisest man the wnrl' e'er saw, 
He dearly lov'd the lasses, O. 
j G reen grow, &c. 

Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears 
I Her noblest work she classes, O ; 

I Her 'prentice han' she tried on man, 

An' then she made the lasses, O. 
^ Gieen grow, &c. 



THE HTOHLJl^rD LJISSIE, 

Nae gentle dames, tho' e'er sae fair, 
Shall ever be my Muse's care ; 
Their titles a' are empty show, 
Gie me my Highland lassie, O. 

CHORUS. 

Within the jg-len sae bushy, O, 
Moon the plain sae rushy, O, 
T set me down wV right (rood toill^ 
To sing my Highland lassie, O, 

Oh, were j'on hill and rallies mine. 
Yon palace and yon gardens fine ! 
The world then the love should know 
I bear my Highland lassie, O. 

Within, &c. 
But fickle fortune frowns on me. 
And I maun cross the raging sea ; 
But while the crimson currents flow 
I'll love mv Highland lassie, O. 

Within, &c. 
Altho' thro' foreign climes I range, 
I know her heart will never change, 
For her bosom burns with honour's gJCJC, 
My faithful Highland lassie, O. 

Within, &c. 



CHIEFL Y SCO TTISH. IBl 

Pot her I'll daro the b'lJows' roar, 
For her I'll tmce a distant -ihoxe. 
Thai Indian wealth may histre throw 
Around my HiL'hiand lassie, O. 

Withiii, &c. 
She ha? my hcau, she has my hand, 
By pacred truth and honour'sband, 
Till the mortal stroke shall lay nic low, 
I'm thine, my Highland lassie, O 

Farewell the glen sae bushy, O ! 
FsfeHell the plain sae rushy, O 1 
To other land? . now must go. 
To sing my Highland lassie, O. 



TVtJM—" Banks of Bana.' \[ 

Yestreen I had a pint o' wine, j j 

A place where body saw na : \\ 

Ypstreen lay on this breast o' mine •• j 

The raven locks of Anna. |! 

The hungry Jew, in wilderness, j i 

Rejoicing o'er his manna, j j 

Wca naething to my honey bliss j 

Upon the lips of Anna. \\ 

Ye mrmp-rchs, taKe the east and west, | j 

Frae Indus to Savannah, ji 

Gie sne within my straining grasp, ] \ 

The molting form of Anna. i i 



Then I'll despise Imperial charms, 

An emnrjss or sultana ; 
While dying raptures, in her arms, 

1 give and take viih Anna. 

Awa, thou fiaiiiiting god :>f day ! 

Awa, thou pale Diana I 
1.1k star gae liide thy twinkling ray, 

'\Vhen I'm to meet my Anna. 

Ck)me in thy raven plumage, Night ! 

iSun, moon, and stars, withdraw a' 
And bring tui angel pen to write 

My trawpoflp wi' my Aniie ' 



163 POEMS, 

THE SPINNING-WHEEL. 

O LKKZE me on my spinning wheel, 
O leeze me on mj^ rock and reel ; 
Frae tap to taethat deeds me bien, 
And haps me fiel and warm at e'en ! 
I'll set me down and sing and spin, 
While laigh descends the simmer sin. 
Blest wi' content, and milk and meal— 
O leeze me on my spinning wheel. 

On ilka hand the burnies trot, 
And meet below my theekit cot ; 
The scented birk and hawthorn white 
Across the pool their arms unite, 
Alike to screen the birdie's nest, 
And little fishes' caller rest : 
The sun blinks kindly in the biel, 
Where blithe I turn my spinning wheeL 

On lofty aiks the cuahats wail, 
And echo cons the dolfu' tale ; 
The linlwhites in thf* hazel braes 
Delighted, rival ither's lays : 
The craik amang the claver hay. 
The paitrick whirrin o'er the ley, 
The swallow jinkin round my shld 
Amuse me at ray spinning wheel. 

Wi' sma' to sell, and less to buy, 
Aboon distress, below envy, 
O wha wad leave this humble state, 
For a' the pride of a' the greatl 
Amid their flaring, idle toys. 
Amid their cumbrous, dinsome joyB, 
Can they the peace and pleasure feel 
Of Bessy at her spinning wheel ? 



THE COUJTTRY LJISSIE. 

Iv simmer, when the bay was mawn. 
And corn wav'd green in ilka fleldf. 

While claver Wooms white o'er th© lea, 
And roses blaw in ilka bield '■ 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH, 163 

Blitbe Bessie in the milking shiel, 

Says, I'll be wed, come o't what will ; 
Out spak a dame in wrinkled eiid, 

guid advisement comes nae ill. 

Its ye hae wooers monie ane, 

And lassie, ye're but young ye ken ; 
Then wait a wee, and cannie wale, 

A routhie butt, a routhie ben : 
There's Johnnie o' the Buskie-glen, 

Fu' is his barn, fu' is his byre : 
Tak this frae ine, my bonie hen, 

Its plenty beets the luver's fire. 

For Johnnie o' the Buskie-gien, 

1 dinna care a single flie ; 

lie lo'es sae weel his craps and kye, 

He has no luve to spare for me : 
But blithe's the blink o' Robie's e'e, 

And weel I wat lie lo'es me dear : 
Ae blink o' hira I wad nae gie 

For Buskie-glen and a' his gear. 

O thoughtless lassie, life's a faught : 

The canniest gate, the strife is sair ; 
But ay fu' han't is fechtin best, 

A hungry care's an unco care : 
But some will spend, and some will spare, 

An' wilfu' folk maun hae their will ; 
Syne as ye brew, ray maiden fair, 

Keep mind that ye maun drink the yilL 

O, gear will buy me rigs o' land, 

Aad gear will buy me sheep and kye ; 
But the tender heart o' leesome love, 

The gowd and siller canna buy : 
We may be poor— Robie and I, 

Light is the burden love lays on ; 
Content and luve brings peace and joy, 

What mair hae queens upon a throne 1 



TJIM OLEJf. 

Mr heart is a breaking, dear Tittie, 
Some counsel imto me come len'; 

To anger them a' ia a pity, 
But what will I do wi' Tarn Glenl 



1 1 164 POEMS, 

I'm thinking, \vi' sic abraw reiic«. 
In poortith I might make a fen ; ' 

What care I in riches to wallow, 
If I maun marry Tam Glen ? 

There's Lowrie the laird c' Druraeller, 
" Guid day to you, brute." he comes ben 

He brags an' he blaws o' his sillsr, 
But when will he dance like Tam Glen 1 

My minnie does constantly doave me, 
And bids me beware o' young men ; 

They flatter, she says, to deceive me ; 
But wha can think sae o' Tam Glen 1 

My daddie says, gin I'll forsake him. 
He'll Erie me siuid hunder marks ten ; 

But if it's ordain'd I maun tak him, 
O wha will I get but Tam Glen? 

Yestreen at the Valentine's dealing. 
My heart to my mou eied a sten ; 

For thrice I drew ane without failing, 
And thrice it was written Tam Glen. 

The last Halloween I was waukin 
My droukit sark-sleeve, as ye ken : 

His likeness cam up tlie house staukin. 
And the very gray breeks o' Tam Glen ! 

Some counsel, dear Tittie, don't tany ; 

I'll gie ye my bonie black hen, 
Gif ye will advise me to marry 

The lad I lo'e dearly, Tam Glen. 



^^TE-AJ^D-TWEJ^TT. 
7\ine—" The MoudieworL" 



An' O, for ane-and-twenty, Tam / 
Alt' hey, sweet ane-and-twenty, Tam I 

ril learn my kin a rnttlin sang, 
An" I saw an&-and-twenty, Tam' 



CHIEFL Y SCOTTISH. 

They s-r.ool me sair, and haud me down, 
And gar me look like blunlie, Tam ! 

But three short years vvili soon wheel roun' 
And then comes ane-and-tvventy, Tam ! 
An' O, &c. 

A gleib o' Ian', a claut o' gear, 
Was left me by my auntie, Tam ! 

At kith or kin 1 need na spier, 
An' I saw ane-and-tvventy, Tam. 
An' O, &c. 

They'll hcie me wed a wealthy coof, 
Tho' I mysel hae plenty, Tam ! 

But hear'st thou, laddie, there's my loof, 
I'm thine at ane-and-twenty, Tam. 
An' O, (fcc. 



165 



SOMEBODY, 

My heart is sair, I dare na tell, 

My heart is sair for somebody ! 
I could wake a winter night 
Tor the sake o' somebody. 
Oh-hon I for somebody ! 
Oh-hey ! for somebody l, 
I could range the world around, 
For th3 sake o' somebody. 

Ye powers that srnile on virtuous love, 

O, sweetly smile on somebody 1 
Frae ilka danger keep him free. 
And send me safe my somebody. 
Oh-hon ! for somebody ! 
Oh-hey I for somebody ! 
1 wad do — what wad I not ?— 
For the sake o' somebody ! 



O WHISTLE, ire. 



O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad; 
O whistle^ and I'll come to you, my lad; 
Tho" father and mithrr and a' should gae mad, 
O toMstle, and ril come to you, my lad. 



166 POEMS, 

But warily tent, when ye come to court me, 
And come na unless the bnck-yett he a-jee ; 
Syne up the back-stile, and let naebody see, 
And come as ye were na comin at me. 
And come, &.c. 

O whistle, &c. 

At kirk, or at market, whene'er yc meet me, 
Gang by me as tho' that ye car'd na a flie : 
But steal me a blink o' your bonie black e'e. 
Yet look as ye were na lookin at me. 
Yet look, &c. 

O whistle, fee. 

Ay vow and protest that ye care na for me. 
And whyles ye may lightly my beauty a wee j 
But court na anither, tho' jokin ye be, 
For fear that she wyle your fancy fraeme. 
For fear, &c. 

O whistle, &c. 



THE YOUXG LASSIE. 



What can a young lassie, what shall a young lasde, 
What can a young lassie do wi' an auld man? 

Bad luck on the pennie that tempted my minnie 
To sell her i)Oor Jennie for siller an' tan ! 
Bad luck on the penny, &c. 

He's always compleenin frae mornin to e'enin, 
He hosts and he hirples the weaiy day lang ; 

He's doylt and he's dozin, his bluid it is frozen, 
O, dreary's the night wi' a crazy auld man ! 

He bums and he hankers, he frets and he cankers, 
I never can please him, do a' that I can ; 

He's peevish and jealous of a' the young fellows, 
O, dool on the day I met wi' an auld man ! 

My auld auntie Katie upon me taks pity, 
I'll do my endeavour to follow her plan ; 

I'll cross him, and wrack him, until I heart break him 
And then his auld brass will buy me a new pan. 



9UIEFL Y SCO TTISH. 167 

MY TOCHER'S THE JEWEL. 

O MiiKLK thinks my luve o' ray beauty, 

And meikle thinks my h've o' my kin ; 
But little thinks my iuve I ken brawlie, 

My tocher's the jewel has charms for him. 
It's a' for the apple he'll nourish the tree, 

It's a' for the hiney he'll cherish the bee ; 
My laddie's sae nicikle in luve wi' the siller, 

He canna hae luve to spare for me. 

Your proffer o' luve's an airl-penny, 

My tocher's the bargain ye wad buy ; 
But an' ye be crafty, I am cunniii, 

Sae ye wi' anither your fortune maun try. 
Ye're like to tlie timmer o' yon rotten wood, 

Ye're like to the bark o' yon rotten tree, 
Ye'll slip frae me like a knotless thread, 

And ye'll crack your credit wi' mae nor me. 



THE MERCEJ\,''^RY LOVER. 

Tune — " Balinamoua ora." 

AWA wi' your witchcraft o' beauty's alarms, 
The slenier bit beauty you grasp in your arm?, 
O, gie me the lass that has acres o' charms, 
O, gie me the lass wi' the weel-stockit farms. 



Then key for a lass wi' a tocher., then hey for a lasa wi' a 

tocher, 
Then hey for a lass wV a tocher; the nice yellow guineas for 

me. 

Your beauty's a flower, in the morning that blows, 
Alj«l withers the faster, the faster it grows ; 
But the rapturous charm o' the bonie green knowes, 
Ilk spring they're new deckit wi' bonie white yowes, 
Then hey, &c. 

And e'en when this beauty your bosom has blest. 
The brightest o' beauty may cloy when possest ! 
But the sweet yellow darlings wi' Geordie imprest, 
The langer ye hae them— the mair they're carest, 
Then hey, &c. 



II 

POEMS, i i 



MEG O' THE MILL. 

jiir—'''' O bonie lass, will you lie in a barrack *s ' 

O KEN ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten? 
Ac' ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten'? 
She has gotten a coof wi' a claut o' s'ller, 
And broken the heart o' the barley Miller. 

The Miller was strappan, the Miller was ruddy ! 
A heart like a lord, and a hue like a lady : 
The laird was a widdiefu', bleerit knurl ; 
She's left the guid fellow and taen the churl. 

The Miller he hecht her a heart leal and loving ; 
The laird did address her wi' matter mair moirtng, 
A fine pacing horse wi' a clear chained bridle, 
A whip by her side and a bonie side-saddle. 

O wae on the siller, it is sae prevailing ; 
And wae on the love tliat is fixed on a mailen ! 
A tocher's nae word in a true lover's parle, 
But, gie me my love, and a fig for the warl ! 



AULD ROB MORRIS. \\ 

There's auld Rob Mo/ris that wons in yon glen, \ | 

He's the king o' guid fellows, and wale of auld men ; , 

He has gowd in his coflers, he has owsen and kine, j ; 

And ae bonie lassie, his darling and mine. ! i 

She's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May ; I ! 

She's sweet as the ev'ning amang the new hay ; | j 

As blithe and as artless as the lambs on the lea, I \ 

And dear to my heart as the hght to my e'e. j I 

1 

But oh ! she's an heiress, auld Robin's a laird, [ 
And my daddie has nought but a cot-house, and yard { 

A wooer like me mauna hope to come speed, I 

The wounds I must hide that will soon be my dead. ! 

The day comes to me, but delight brings me nane ; i j 

The night comes to me, but my rest it is gane ; 1 1 

I wander my lane like a night-troubled ghaist, i 

And I sigh as my heail it wad burst in my breaat 1 1 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 

O, had Bhe but been of lower degree, 
I then might hae hop'd she wad smil'd upon me i 
O, how past describing had then been my bliss. 
As now my distraction no words can express. 



TO TIBBIE. 
Tune — •• Invercald's Reel.' 



O Tibbie, I hae seen the day, 
Ye would nac beensae shy; 

For laik o' gear ye lightly me. 
But trowth I care na by. 

Ykstreen I met you on the moor, 
Ye epak na, hut gaed by like stoure : 

Ye geek at me because I'm poor, 
But fient a hair care I. 

O Tibbie, &c. 

I doubt na, lass, but ye may think, 
Because ye hae the name o' clinK, 

That ye can please me at a wink, 
Whene'er ye like to try. 

O Tibbie, &c. 

But sorrow lak him that's sae mean, 
Altho' his pouch o' coin were clean, 

Wha follows any saucy quean 
That looks sae proud and high, 
O Tibbie, &c 

Altho' a lad were e'er sae smart. 
If that he want the yellow dirt, 

Ye'U cast your head anither airt, 
And answer him fu' dry. 

O Tibbie, &c. 

But if he hae the name o' gear, 
Ye'U fasten to him like a brier, 

Tho' hardly he, for sense or leaf. 
Be better than tlie kye. 

O Tibbie, &c. 

T«i- M. M 



170 POEMS, \ \ 

But Tibbie, iass, tak my advice, i } 

Your daddie's gear niaks you sae nice, ] j 

The deal a ane wad spier your price, | ; 

Were ye as poor aa I. ' ■ 

O Tibbie, &c. j i 

There Uvea a lass in yonder park, | ; 

I would na gie her in her eark, ■ i 

For thee wi' a' tliy tJkOusand mark: ; 

Ye needna look sae high. 

O Tibbie, &c. 



DUJfCjlJ^ GRAY. 



Duncan Gray came here to woo. 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't, 
On blithe yule night when we were fa 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't, 
Maggie coost her head fu' high, 
Look'd askleut and unco' skeigh, 
Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh : 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't 
Duncan fleech'd and Duncan praj'd: 

Ha, ha, &c. 
Meg was deaf as Ailsa craig. 

Ha, ha, &e. 
Duncan sigb'd baith out and in, 
Grathis een baith bleer't and blin% 
Spak o' louping o'er a liim ; 

Ha, ha, &c. 
Time and chance are but a tide, 

Ha, ha, &c. 
Slighted love is sair to bide. 

Ha, ha, &c. 
Shall r, like a fool, quoth he, 
For a haughty hizzie die ! 
She may gae to— France for me ! 

Ha, ha, &c. 
How it comes let doctors tell, 

Ha, ha, &c. 
Meg grew sick— as he grew heal, 

Ha, ha, &c. 
Something in her bosom wrings, 
For relief a sigh she brings ; 
And O, her een, they spak sic things I 

Ha, ha, &c. 



QJHIEFL Y SCO TTISH. 171 

Duncan was a lad o' grace, 

Ha, ha, &c. 
Maggie's was a piteous case, 

Ha, ha, &c. 
Duncan could na be her death, 
Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath ; 
Now they're crouse and cantie baith I 

Ha, ha, &c. 



But a' the niest week as I fretted wi' care, 
I gaed to the tryste o' Daljrarnock, 

And wha but my fine, fickle lover was there; 
I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock, a warlock, 
I glow'rd as I'd seen a warlock. 

But owre my left shouther I gaed him a blink. 
Lest neebors might say I was saucy ; 

My wooer he caper'd as he'd been in drink. 
And vow'd I was his dear lassie, dear lasefe, 
And vow'd I was his dear lassie. 



THE BRAIV JVOOER. 

Tune—'''- The Lothian Lassie." i 

Last May a braw wooer cam down the lang glea, i 

And sair wi' his love he did deave me ! i i 

I said there was naething I hated like men. 
The deuce gae wi'm to believe me, believe me, 
The deuce gae wi'm, to believe me. 

He spak o' the darts in my bonie black e'en, j ! 

And vow'd for my love he was dying ; i I 

I said he might die when he liked, for Jean ; 1 1 

The Lord forgie me for lying, for lying, i j 

The Lord forgie me for lying. \ , 

A well-stocked mailen, himscl for the laird, i ) 

And marriage afT-hand, were his proffers; \\ 

I never loot on that I kenn'd il, or car'd, 
But thought I might hae waur offers, waur offers, 

But thought I might hae waur offers. | 

But what wad ye think, in a fortnight or less, I 

I The deil tak his taste to gae near her ! I \ 

i He up the lang loan to my black cousin Bess, | ) 

i Guess ye how, the jad ! I could bear her, could bear her, ! \ 

Guess ye how, the jad ! I could bear her. j i 



i 



179 POEJIIS, 

I spier'd for my cousin, fu' couthie and sweet, 

Gin she had recover'd lier hearin, 1 1 

And how her new shoon fit her auld shackl't feet, : j 

But, heavens ! how he fell a-swearin, a-swearin, ; 

But, heavens '. how he fell a-swearin. ; i 

He begg'd for Gudesake '. I wad be his wife, i I 

Or else 1 wad kill him wi' sorrow : i i 

So e'en to preserve the poor body in life, i I 

I think I maun wed him to-morrow, to-morrow, : j 

i think I mauii wed him to-morrow. : I 



WILLIE'S WIFE. 



Willie Wastle dwalt on Twead, 
The spot they ca'd it Linkumdoddie, 

Willie wag a wabstcr gnid, 
Cou'd slown a clue wi' onie bodie : 

He had a wife was dour and din, 
O tinkler Madgie was her mother ; 



Sic a wife as Willie had, 

I wad na g^ie a button for her. 

She has an e'c, she has but ane. 

The cat has iwa the very colour ; 
Five rusty teeth, forbye a stump, 

A clapper tongue w'ad deave a miller: 
A whiskin beard about hermou, 

Her nose and chin they threaten ither. 
Sic a wife, &c. 
She's bough-hough'd, she's hein-shinn'd, 

Ae limpin leg a hand-breed shorter ; 
She's twisted right, she's twisted left, 

To balance fair in ilka quarter: 
She has a hump upon her breast, 

The twin o' that upon her shouther ; 
Sic a wife, &c. 
Auld baudron by the ingle sits, 

An wi' her loof her face a washin ; 
But Willie's wife is nae sae trig, 

She dights her grunzie wi' a hushion ; 
j Her walie nieves like midden-creels, 

Her face wad fyle the Logan-water, 
Sic a wife, &c. 



CHIEFL Y SCO TTISH. 178 

A PECK O' MAUT. 

O, Willie brew'd a peck o' maut, 

And Fob and Allan cam to see ; 
Three blither hearts, that lee-Iang night, 

Ye wad na find in Christendiel 



i We are nafou, we're na thatfou, 

But just a drappic in our e'e; 

! 7%c cock may craw, the day may daw, 

j j3nd ay we'll taste the barley bree. 

j • Here are we met, three merry boys, 

I ! Thi-ee merry boys I trow are we ; 

i' I Apd monie a night we've merry been, 

! And monie mae we hope to be ! 

i We are, &c, 

! ; It is the moon, I ken her horn, 

! ; That's blinkin in the lift sae hie ; 

j She shines sae bright to wyle us hame, 

I But by my sooth sheMl wait a wee ! 

I We arc, &c. 

I Wba first shall rise4o gang awa', 

! A cuckold, coward loun is he I 

j i Wha last beside his chair shall fa', 

] i He is the king amang us three ! 

I : We are, Sec. 



THE L^WIJV. 

Gasz is the day and mirk's the night, 
But we'll ne'er stray for foute o' light. 
For ale and brandy's stars and moon, 
And bluid-red wine's the rising sun. 



Tim^ fuidmftf count the laicin^ the lawin^ the lavoin^ 
Tknh gwidwifet eounX the lawin, and bring a coggit nudr 



174 POEMS^ 

There's wealth and ease for gentlemen, 
And semple folk maun fecht and fen' ; 
But here we're a' in ae accord, 
For ilka man that's drunk's a lord. 

Then guidwife, &c. 

My coggie is a haly pool, 
That heals the wounds o' care and dool ; 
And pleasure is a wanton trout, 
An' ye drink it a' ye'll find hira out, 
Then guidwife, &c. 



HOTTEST POVERTY. 

Is there, for honest poverty. 

That hangs his head, and a' that; 
The coward-slave, we pass him by, 

We dare be poor for a' that ! 
For a' that, and a' that,* 

Our toil's obscure, and a' that, 
The rank is but the guinea's stamp, 

The man's the gowd for a' that. 

What tho' on hameV fare we dine, 

Wear hoddin gray, and a' that ; 
Gie fools their silkc, and knaves their wine, 

A man's a man for a' that ; 
For a' that, and a' that. 

Their tinsel show and a' that ; 
The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor, 

Is king o' men for a' that. 

Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord, 

Wha struts, and stares, and a' that ; 
Tho' hundreds worship at his word. 

He's but a coof ftrr s' that : 
For a' that, and a' tnat, 

His riband, star, and a' that, 
The man of independent roind, 

He looks and laughs at a' that. 

A prince can mak a belted knight, 

A marquis, duke, and a' that ; 
But an honest man's aboon his might 

Guid foith he mauna fa' that ! 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 

For a' that, ar.d a' Uiat, 

Their diffiiitics and a' that, 
The pith o' fciisp and pride o' worth, 

Are higher ranks than a' that. 

Then let ris pray that come it may, 

As come it will for a' that, 
That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, 

Mav bear the gree, and a' that : 
For a' tliat, and a' that, 

Its coming yet, for a' that. 
That man to man the warld o'er, 

Shall brothers be for a' that. 



COJfTEJ^TMEJfT. 
Tunc—'^ Lumps o' Pudding." 

CoMTKNTEX) wi' liftlo, and caniie wi* mair, 

Whene'er I forgather wi' sorrow and care, 

I gie Ihem a skelp, as Oiey're creeping alang, 

Wi' a cog o' cuid swats, and an auld Scottish sang. 

I whyles claw the elbow o' troublesome thought ; 

But man is a sodger, and life is a lausrht : 

My mirth and auld humour are coin in my pouch, 

And my Freedom's my lairdship nae monarch dare touch. 

A towmond o' trouble, should that be my fa', 

A night o' good fellowship sowthers it a' : 

When at the blithe end o' our journey at last, 

Wha the deril ever thinks o' the road he has past 7 

Blind chance, let her snapper and =to>te on her way, 

Be't to me, be't frae me, e'en let the jade gae : 

Come ease, or come travail ; come pleasure or pain ; 

My waret ward is—" Welcome, and welcome again !' 



C.iLEDOJ\rM 
Tttne— " Humours of Glen." 
Teeir groves o' sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon, 

Where bright beaming summers exalt the perfume, 
Fto dearer to me yon lowe glen o' green breckan, 
WI* the bum stealing under the laug yellow broom. 



176 POEMS, 

Far dearer to me are yon humble broom bowers, 
Where the blue-bell and gowan lurk lowly unseen: 

For there lightly tripping amang the wild flowers, 
A listening the linnet, aft wanders my Jean. 

Tho' rich is the breeze in their gay sunny valleys, 

And cauld Caledonia's blast on the wave : 
Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud palace, 

What are they 7 The haunt of the tyrant and slave : 

The slave's spicy forests, and gold-bubbling fountains, 
The brave Caledonian views with disdain : 

He wanders as free as the winds of his mountains. 
Save love's willing fetters, the chains o' his Jean. 



THE BATTLE OP SHERIFF-MUIR, 
Between the Duke of Argyle and the Earl of Mar. 

♦ O CAis ye here the fight to shun, 

Or herd the sheep wi' rae, man 1 
Or were ye at the Sherra-muir, 

And did the battle see, man 3" 
I saw the battle sair and tough, 
And reeking-red ran monie a sheu"h, 
My heart, for fear, gae sough for sough. 
To hear the thuds, and see the cluds, 
O' clans frae woods in tartan duds, 

Wha glaura'd at kingdoms three, man. 

The red-coat lads, wi' black cockades, 

To meet them were na slaw, man ; 
They rush'd and push'd, and bluid outgUBb'd, 

And monie a bonk did fa", man: 
The great Argyle led on his files, 
I wat they glanced twenty miles : 
They back'd and hash'd, while broad-sworda elaah*d, 
And thro' they dash'd, and hew'd and smashed, 

Till fey-rnen died awa, man. 

But had you seen the Philibep, 

And skyrin tartan trews, man. 
When in the teeth ihey dar'd our whlgB, 

And covenant true blues, man ; 
In lines exiended lang and large. 
When bayonets oppos'd the taige. 



CHTEFLY SCOTTISH n 

And thousands hasten' d to the charge, 
Wr Highland wrath tliey frae the sheath 
Drew blades o' death, till out o' breath, 

They fled like frijjhted doos, man. 
" O how deil, Tarn, can that be true 1 

The chase gacd frae the north, man: 
I saw myself, they did pursue 

The horsemen back to Forth, man ; 
And at Dumblatie, in my ain sight, 
They took the brig vvi' a' their might, 
And straught to Sterling wing'd their flight ; 
But, cursed lot ! the gaies were shut, 
And monie a huntit poor red-coat, 

For fear amaist did swaft, man.'' 
My sister Kate cam up the gate, 

VVi' crowdie unto me, man ; 
She swore she saw 5ome rebeis run 

Frae Perth unto Dundee, man : 
Their lefi-liand general had rae skill, 
The Angus lads had nae good will 
That day their neebcrs' bfuid to spill ; 
For f«ar by foes that they should lose 
Their cogs o' brose : all crying woes. 

And so it goes, you see,' men. 
They've lost some gallant gentlemen, 

Amang tlie Highland clans, man ; 
I fear my lord Panmure is slain. 

Or fallen in whigglsh hands, man : 
Now wad ye sing this double fight, 
Some fell for wrang and some for right ; 
But monie bade the world guid-night ; 
Then ye may tell, how pell and mell. 
By red claymores, and muskets' knell, 
Wi' dving yell, the tories fell, 

And Whigs to hell did flee, man. 



THE DUMFRIES VOLUNTEERS 

April, 1795. I j 

r«n«— " Push about the Jorum.' ' ' | 

rkJEa haughty Gats! invasion threat ? i i 

Then let the loons beware, Sir, i j 

There's wooden walls upon our eoas, \ 

And volunteeis on shore. Kir, j 

ii 



m POEMS, jj 

The Nith shall run to Coraincon,* i i 

And CrifFelf sink in Solway, 1 ! 

Ere we permit a foreign foe j 1 

On British ground to rally ! 1 1 

Fall de rail, &c. j I 

O let us not like snarling tykea 

In wrangling be divided ; 
Till slap come in an unco loan 

And wi' a rung decide it. ; 

Be Britain still to Britain true ! | 

Amang oursels united ; ! I 

For never but by British hands • 

Maun British wrangs be righted. ! 

Fall de raO, &c. . ! 

The kettle o' the kirk and state. 

Perhaps a claut may feil in't ; 
But deil a foreign tinkler loun , 

Shall ever ca' a nail in't. I ; 

Our father's bluid the kettle bought, 

And wha wad dare to spoil it ; 
By heaven the sacrilegious dog 

Shall fuel be to boil it. 

Fall de rail, &c. 

The wretch that wad a tyrant own. 

And the vvretch, his true-born brother, 
Who would set the mob aboon the tAron$t 

May they be d — n'd together ! 
Who will not sing, " God save the King," 

Shall hang as high's the steeple ; 
But while we sing, " God save the King," 

We'll ne'er forget the People. 



THE WHISTLE. 

A BALLAD. 

A» the authentic prose history of the WhisUe is eitrious, t 

i Bhall here give it. 

I Jn the train of Jlnne of Denmark, when she coffM to Scot- 

land teith our James the Sixth,there came over eUso a Damisk 
gentleman of gigantic stature and great protoeas, mni • 



• A high hill at the source of the J\nth. 

t A well-known mountain at the mouth of the SohotUf 



CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 1T9 

mateklets champion of Bacchus. He had a little ebony Whis- 
tle, loAieh, at the commencement of the orgies, he laid on the 
table, and whoever was last able te blow it, every body else 
being disabled by the potency of the bottle, was to carry off 
the Whistle as a trophy of victory. The Dane produced ere- 
deniials of his victories, without a single defeat, at the courts 
of Copenhagen, Stockholm, Moscow, Warsaw, and sevcra, 
of the petty courts in Germany; and challenged the Scots 
Bacchanalians to the alternative of trying his prowess, or 
else of acknowledging their inferiority. 

.After many overthrows on the part of the Scots, the Dane 
was encountered by Sir Robert Lawrie of Maxwclton, an' 
cestor ofthepresent worthy baronet of that name ; who, after 
three days aud three nights' hard contest, left the Scandina- 
vian under the table. 

And blew on the whistle his requiem shrill. 

Sir Walter, son to Sir Robert before-mentioned, afterwards 
lost the Whistle to Walter Riddel cf Glmriddel, who had 
married a sister of Sir IValter's. 

On Friday the I6th of October, 17'J0, at Priars-Carse, the 
Whistle was once more contended for, as related in theballad, 
by thepresent Sir Robert Lawrie ofJIaxwelton; Robert Rid- 
del^ Esq. of Olenriddel, lineal descendant and representative 
of Walter Riddel, who won the IVh'stle, and in whose family 
it had continued; aiid .Alexander Ferguson, Esq. of Craig- 
darroch, likewise descended of the great Sir Robert; which 
last gentleman carried off the hard toon honours of the field, 

I SING of a Whigtle, a Whistle of worth, 

I fling of a Whistle, the pride of t^i.e north, 

Was brought to the court of our good Scottish liing, 

And long with this Whistle all Scotland shall ring. 

Old Loda* still rueing the arm of Fingal, 

The god of the bottle sends down from his hall— 

" This Whistle's your challenge, to Scotland get o'er, 

And drink them to hell. Sir ! or ne'er sec me more I" 

Old poets have sung, and old chronicles tell, 
What champious ventur'd, what champions fell ; 
The son of great Loda was conqueror still. 
And blew on the Whistle his requiem shrill. 

Till Robert, the Lord of the Cairn and the Scaur, 
Unmatch'd at the bottle, unconquer'd in war, 
Bt drank bis poor god-ship as deep as the sea, 
Ko tide of the Baltic e'er drunker than he 

♦ See Ossiah's Caric-thura. 



130 POEMS, 

Thus Robert, victorious, the trophy has gain'd : 
Which now in his liouse has for ages remain'd ; 
Till three noble chieftains, and all of his blood, 
The jcviaL contest again have renew' d. 

Three joyous good fellows, with hearts clear of flaw, 
Craigdarroch, so famous for wit, worth, and law ; 
And trusty Gleuriddel, so skill'd in old coins ; 
And gallant Sir Robert, deep-read in old wines. 

Craigdarroch began, with a tongup smooth as oil, 

Desiring Glenriddel to yield up the ^oil ; 

Or else he would muster the beads of the clan, j 1 

And once more, in claret, try which was the man. i ! 

"By the gods of the ancients !" Glenriddel replies, 
" Before I surrender so glorious a prize. 
I'll conjure the gho?t of the great Rone More,* 
And bumper his horn with him twenty times o'er." 

Sir Robert, a soldier, no speech wou'.d pretend, 
Bat he rve'er turn'd his b^k on his foe — or his friend, 
Said, toss down the Whistle, the prize of the field, 
And knee-deep in claret, he'd die, or he'd yield. 

To the board of Glenriddel our heroes repair, 

So noted for drowning of sorrow and care ; 

But for wine and for welcome not more known to fame, 

Than the sense, wit, and taste, of a aweet lovely dams. 

A Bard is selected to witness the fray, 
And tell future ages the feats of the day ; 
A Bard who detested all sadness and spleen, 
And wish'd that Parnassus a vineyard had been. 

The dinner being over, llie claret tbey ply, 

And every new cork Ls a new spring of joy ; 

In the bands of o'.d friendship and kindred so set, 

And the bands grew the lighter the more they were wet 

Gay pleasure ran riot as bumpers ran o'er ; 
Bright Ph&buri ne'er witness'd so joyous a core, 
And vow'd that to leave them he was quite foriorn. 
Till Cynthia hinted he'd see thcra neit ra<»rn. 

Six bottles a-piece had well wore out the night. 
When gallant Sir Robert, to finish the fight, 
Turn'd o'er in one bumper a bottle of ved, 
And Bwore 'twas the way that their ancestor did. 

* See JokMon'a T«ur to the Hcbride*. 



CHIEFL Y SCO TTISH. 181 

Then worthy Glenriddel, so cautious and sage, 

No longer the warfare, ungodly, would wage ; 

A high ruling Elder to wallow in wine ! 

He left the foul business to folks less divine. 

The gallant Sir Robert fought hard to the end ; 

But who can with fate and quart-bumpers contend? 

Tho' fate said— a hero should perish in light ; 

So up rose bright Phcebus— and down fell the knight. 

Next up rose our Bard, like a prophet in drink : — 

•• Craigdarroch, thou' It soar when creation shall sink ; 

Bui if thou would flourish immortal in rhyme, 

Ck>me — one bottle more— and have at the sublime ! 

Thy line, that have struggled for freedom with Bruce, 

Shall heroes and patriots ever produce : 

So thine be the laurel, and mine be the bay ; 

The field thou hast won. by yon bright god of day !'* 



JOHK BJiRLETCORJ^f* 

A BALLAD. 

There went three kings into the east, 

Three kings both great and high, 
An' they hae sworn a solemn oath, 

John Barleycorn should die. 
They took a plough and plough'd him down, 

Put clods upon his head, 
And they hae sworn a solemn oath 

John Barleycorn was dead. 
But the cheerful spring came kindly on. 

And showers began to fall ; 
John Barleycorn got up again, 

And sore surprised them all. 
The sultry suns of summer came, 

And he grew thick and strong, 
His head weel arm'd wi' pointed spears, 

That no one should him wrong. 
The sober autumn enter'd mild, 

When he grew wan and pale, 
His bending joints and drooping bead 

Show'd he bega« to fail. 

* Tkisisfartly eomposed on the plan of an oM song knovm 
by the same. name. 



i 



% 



7 /V 



182 POEMS, CHIEFLY SCOTTISH, 

His colour sicken'd more and more, 

fie faded into age, 
And ti)en his enemies began 

To show their .deadly rage. 

They've ta'en a weapon long and sharp, 

And cut him hy the knee: 
Then tied him fast upon a cart, 

Like a rogue for forgerie. 

They laid him down upon his back. 
And cudgelled him full sore, 

They hung him up before the storm, 
And tum'd liim o'er and o'er. 

They filled up a darksome pit 

With water to the brim, 
They heaved in John Barleycorn, 

There let him Gink or swim. 

They laid him out upon the floor. 

To work him farther wo, 
And still as signs of life appeared, 

They toss'd him to and fro. 

They wasted o'er a scorching flama, 
The marrow of his bones ; , 

Put a miller used him worst of all. 
For he crush'd him between two 



And tliey hae taen his very heart's blood, | 

And drank it round and round ; 

And still the more and more they drank, j 

Their joy did more abound. j 

John Barleycorn was a hero bold, j 

Of noble enterprise, i 

For, if you do but taste his blood, 1 

'Twill make your courage rise. | 

♦Twill make a man forget his wo ; j 

'Twill heighten all his joy; | 

'Twill make the widow's heart to sing, \ 
\ Tho' the tear were in her eye. 



Then let us toast John Barleycorn, 
Each man a glass in hand ; 

And may his great posterity 
Ne'er fail in auld Scotland! 



l^as BM). 



3G 



Deacidified using the Bookkeeper procf 
Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: March 2009 

PreservationTechnologi 

A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVA1 

111 Thomson Park Drive 
Cranberry Township, PA 16066 



